


briser son cœur

by Wickedlovely01



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Fluff, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, IT WASN'T MEANT TO BE THIS LONG, Lams - Freeform, Lin-Manuel Miranda - Freeform, M/M, Sickfic, alex is sick what's new, lol watch me not update, nothing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:10:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6657217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wickedlovely01/pseuds/Wickedlovely01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world was a muted green.</p><p>The world was the sound of constantly beeping machines.</p><p>The world smelled of antiseptics.</p><p>This was Alexander Hamilton’s world, and he did not like it.</p><p>[ INCOMPLETE - CHAPTER SIX FINISHED ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. la rupture

**Author's Note:**

> this honestly wasn't supposed to be a chaptered fic but it would've ended up as like a 10,000 worded fic and i wasn't gonna do that. totally not sorry for the cliffhanger ah hah.

Contrary to the popular belief, Alexander Hamilton hated work. Or, at least, he hated pointless work. He hated the fact that to pay for his dorm room he had to have three jobs. He hated that he never got to see his boyfriend. He hated that he could never write. He hated standing here for nine hours on end behind a register, ringing up food he could never afford. He hated the beeping of every single item. He hated the way his feet ached, and no matter what kind of padding he had underneath, no matter how much he bent his knees, there was no relief. He hated working at a grocery store, where anxiety attacks were bound to happen weekly. Alexander hated everything about this minimum-wage job.

But it was worth it. He knew it was worth it because John could still go to medical school. He knew it was worth it because they weren’t kicked out of their shitty apartment. He knew it was worth it because when the beatings got too bad, Lafayette could still come over and lay low. So Alex continued working. He continued to take nine hour shifts even when he didn’t need to. As a college student studying to become a lawyer, Alex was running himself ragged. It showed everyday now. Bags under his eyes, pupils constantly diluting and engorging in size, wobbling in place. But he couldn’t stop. If he stopped working, there would be no more house or food or Lafayette or, heaven forbid, no more John.

If John Laurens wasn’t in his life, Alexander didn’t know what he would do. He kept ringing up items to keep John in his life, even when he said he didn’t need to. He held his tongue for once in his life, because unlike so many others, these supervisors could not and would not tolerate his sharp tongue and quick wit. So there he stood, in a dark green polo shirt, name of the company etched in white over his heart, name badge just above it, shoveling groceries through the register to the bagging area.

“Rewards card, ma’am?” Hamilton asked, and his voice was similar to a flatline. There were few people that wanted to hold conversation, and fewer still that wanted to listen to Alex drone about his personal debts. The middle-aged woman grumbled, scrambling in her purse to fetch it. Alexander took this time to reach into his pocket, pull out a tissue, and cough into it. He’d been under the weather for quite some time now, but there was nothing to be done. Not with medical and law school being as expensive as they were.

“Excuse me,” She said, and Alex stopped halfway from reaching her plastic card. The lady pulled back, brown eyes looking as if she’d been betrayed. He knew this look all too well.

“Is something the matter?”

The customer cleared her throat, gesturing to the used tissue in his hand. “That is highly unsanitary. You expect to germ up my groceries and personal belongings?” Hamilton stuffed the cloth into his pocket, refraining from rolling his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood for this. He never was, but especially not today, when he still had all but six hours to go, and he was feeling quite dizzy.

“Apologies, ma’am,” He offered his condolences while pumping nearby hand sanitizer into his palms, rubbing them together. It smelled like rubbing alcohol, and the woman humphed, as she handed Hamilton her card. “Paper or plastic for you today?” Alex looked at the bagging station, hoping at least the slowest teenager would be there to help him. No such luck. Of course not, because the scheduling manager never put more than one bagger on at a time, and they were down at the other end of the store doing returns.

“Double plastic inside paper. Colds separate from warm, vegetables from deli, milk in each its own bag.” Hamilton looked back at the conveyer belt, and could spot no foreseeable end to the eternity of processed and packaged foods the woman had purchased. Just his luck.

Moving around did not help his dizziness. Moving around at the barking of a cranky suburban woman to _go faster_ and _didn’t they teach you to bag? My god, America is going to shit if this is our generation. Slow and lazy,_ certainly didn’t improve his situation. He’d started to sweat around the fourth bag, and still he had more things to ring up and more bags to fill. Alex wasn’t sure if his managers saw the trouble he’d been in since the start, but he doubted they cared. At some point, he just stopped. Black spots had overtaken his vision, like an army takes over a smaller country. He gripped onto the linoleum counter, trying to remember how to breathe, closing his eyes.

“Alex?” It wasn’t the customer. It was a more quiet, more feminine voice, and a cool hand was placed on his shoulder. This was Angelica. Angelica didn’t really care what he did so long as he got his work done. She was nicer than most of the supervisors, though still ruled with an iron fist. He hummed gruffly in response, feeling his body sway dangerously to the right. “Alexander, are you okay? You look pale. You’re not usually this warm, are you?”

“Fine... ‘m fine, Angelica.” He whispered hoarsely. There was no way he’d stop working. If he went home, he’d get points on his record, and then he’d get fired. Hamilton felt her hesitate, could almost see her frowning, could smell the worry radiating off her like her new perfume... Ah, that perfume. Like roses and lavender on a warm summer breeze. Like lemongrass and mint. She smelled different with every breath, and Alex focused on that.

“Let me... Let me bag for you, okay? At least let me do that.”

“Don’chu...” Shit. His words were slurring together. Was he drunk? No. No, he hadn’t gone to bar in months because he was so busy. Dizzy? Yes. He was dizzy, so much so that when Alex opened his eyes to look at Angelica, he saw triple. “Have breaks to... give out?”

“Go and finish up the order, Alexander. Don’t make me tell you twice. After you hand her the receipt, Go and get some water.” Angelica already made up her mind with the tone of voice she used, and Hamilton knew there was no arguing with her, so he did as she asked of him.

Except the world was growing cold and dark. Except that the counter was closer to his forehead than it ought to be. Except he couldn’t quite finish ringing up the rest of the groceries, because there was a shrill screech and a far away cry of his name, and something wet like egg yolk was running down the side of his head.

***

It felt like his head had been stuffed with cotton balls, half of them wet, but that made it no less harder to comprehend what was happening around him.

“Shit! Alex!” That was his name. Someone was tossing his head back and forth, tapping on his cheeks. The voice sounded like it was underwater.

Had he gone swimming? Alex didn’t remember. He just knew it was too cold and too hot, and he could feel his body sweating and shivering.

“Alex, come on, honey. Give me somethin’ to work with. Open your eyes. Come on, baby. Ambulance is almost here. Let’s just see them eyes, yeah?”

Ambulance... Hamilton managed to rouse himself from the depths of the black ocean he swam in. Why did he need an ambulance when he was perfectly fine? Everything was still jumbled, like puzzle pieces mixed in with poker chips, but he was sure he’d been at work. He needed to work, not an ambulance. He tried to vocalize this issue to whoever was holding him, to whoever was speaking to him.

All he heard was a low moan. “Oh jesus... Oh thank god.” Hamilton finally opened his eyes. He was no longer in the harsh white fluorescents, instead the dimming yellow of the break room. Everything was made of soft edges and bright colors, and it made the man frustrated he couldn’t properly detect which way he was facing. He heard more voices, hushed and urgent and far away, and the soft blaring of a news anchor from the shitty television the store bought. It hurt his stuffed head, and Alexander moaned. “Turn that fucking television off. I swear to god, if you don’t do it now- “ It got quieter. Alex settled a little more. “ _Thank_ you. For once in your life, Seabury, I won’t tear you limb from fucking limb.”

Seabury. Samuel Seabury. Alex tried to conjure him up in his mind, and he wasn’t sure if he was right or not but did Samuel have the face and voice of a sixteen year old? Was his face akin to that of a pepperoni pizza, greasy and red and gross? Hamilton hated pepperoni... He hated Sam’s red hair. He tried to look over at the boy, but a wave of nausea and dizziness overtook him like a storm.

“He’s... he’s gonna be okay, right?” That was Angelica’s voice. He didn’t even have to guess. “He felt so warm when I held him... There was a lot of blood... That damn woman... Damn her for overworking him.”

“Ang,” Of what little Alexander could make out, he knew that the rough, calloused hands on either side of his head were Hercules’. This also explained the cussing. No one hated Seabury more than him. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. The bleeding is slowing down. Just take a deep breath, drink some water.”  At this point, the light and the voices became too much, so Hamilton shut his eyes. The pain reduced some.

“Oh, god, I’m gonna get fired. _He’s_ gonna get fired. We have no one to work the rest of his shift-”

“Angie, Angelica.” Mulligan’s voice had taken a sympathetic tone to it. “It’ll be okay. No one is getting fired, alright? This was just some freak accident. You’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, Alexander’ll be fine. Hell, if you’re worried about that fucking shit-head over there, I’ll tell you Seabury’ll be fine.”

Hamilton decided at this point to throw up. He barely ate to begin with, and only with John’s pleading and imploring did he eat a meager gala apple before leaving the house. He wondered if the sick was red, but that thought left just as quickly as it came because Alex just started crying. Everything hurt. His eyes hurt, his head hurt, his throat hurt, his entire body hurt. Somebody started dabbing at his mouth and chin.

He could hear sirens now. Was he being arrested for not finishing his shift? He just kept crying. Everything around him was pounding and Alexander couldn’t breathe right anymore. “Alex, love. The ambulance is here. I’ll carry you out. Everything will be okay. I promise. No one is mad at you for this, and if they are then I’ll do what I have to. I’m gonna take the rest of your shift, I don’t care. It’s going to be okay.” Hamilton felt the ground beneath him move again as Hercules lifted him up. He felt like a small child, clinging to his mother for support. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Alex blacked out on the walk outside.

***

The world was a muted green.

The world was the sound of constantly beeping machines.

The world smelled of antiseptics.

This was Alexander Hamilton’s world, and he did not like it.

When he opened his eyes, he sighed, because there was nothing else to be done. He couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. It was like he was suffocating. His nose was completely clogged, so Alex was reduced to breathing through his mouth. Licking his lips, he tried out his voice, rough and grating on his vocal chords. Talking opened up a new wound.

“He...Help...” Was all he uttered, before a strangled scream ripped through him. Everything hurt. His body was not made of bone and muscle and nerves, but of fire and ash and soot. He was a burning spectacle, and there was nothing on this earth that could put him out. Why was he burning? Why was Alexander burning? No one had the answer... Mother used to, but mother was gone now, and Alex had been left alone to rot for eternity. No one knew why he was burning. “Help!” He screamed this time, and he didn’t care if it caused more pain. “Help, damnit, help!”

“Alex, shh, my heart.” This wasn’t Hercules or Angelica. This was water, quick and manipulative and soothing. Usually, Hamilton despised the element, but it was welcome among his igneous pyre. He let it sweep its dark hand over his fevered eyes, and Alex drank in the voice. “You have a concussion, sweetheart. Herc tells me you fainted and threw up at work...” A light hand brushed over his febrile cheek, and then his forehead. Alex felt the pressure of the fingers hit the edge of a bandage. Had he been bleeding? “Oh, my poor little baby. I am so sorry. What are we going to do?”

Alexander wanted to say that he was fine. He wanted to say that if he _had_ actually been bleeding (the evidence that he was was piling up at an alarming rate), it would have stopped by now, so he could go home. He wanted to say that there were a multitude of things he needed to get done for speech and debate. He was already so far behind in his oral presentation in his Advanced English class that he was sure the teacher was going to fail him.What was he going to do? Go home, get on his laptop, work until somebody finally switched off the wifi at four in the morning. He hated being in the hospital. He hated how the water could not work its way into his body and pop the tubes out of him. He hated that all the water did was whisper things to him.

“The doctor’s say you’ve got a nasty bout of the flu. They want you to stay here for a while.” Reported the water.

“No,” Replied Hamilton.

“You really cannot decline this, Alexander. You and I both know John has medical standing over you, being a qualified nurse. He will never let you leave in this state. Even if you _weren’t_ dating, I doubt he’d let you go. We love you so, my star. We love you. We never want you to leave us.”

“I’ve so much work...” Tears came again. Alex wasn’t entirely sure why, only that the water wiped them away. He nuzzled into his hand, trying to find an anchor. But water was never in the same place at once. It was unreliable in that way. “I... Washington is going to be angry with me.”

“No, sweetheart. I promise that he won’t be.”

“B-Burr, then...”

“Burr won’t be angry, either.”

“Jefferson!” Alexander wailed, starting to trash around. He really didn’t give a rat’s ass if Jefferson was going to be angry at him or not, he just wanted out of this bed.

The water cleared its throat. Hamilton wished he knew who was talking. The voice was faintly accented, but only just, and his brain was still muddled. It could have been anybody, really. “No. Please, Alex. Stay here, be a good boy. Stay here, focus on getting better, and I’m sure that when we go home the mountain of work will still be on your desk for you to do.”

It continued on like this for a little bit, water convincing man, man fighting the elements. In the end, Alex lost, but that was no surprise. Even laying down he felt dizzy. What day of the month was it? He sure as hell didn’t know, but he knew he felt warm and fuzzy inside when the water kissed him. “Shh, my heart, my brilliant star. I will stay here, okay? No, no. Don’t fall asleep. That’s not... Alex, no.”

But he already drifted off.

***

“Where is he?!”

“Sir-”

“No, you have to let me see him!”

Alexander Hamilton tore five lashes off his eyelids opening his eyes. Now he could see clearly. The muted green of the world had blended in with a dusty blue along the wall, tan seashells separating the colors. The annoying beeping of the world was his own heart, shown on the little monitor to the right. It always scared him to hear his own pulse. You could always tell when you were going to die. Pressure was around his right hand; Lafayette connected to it. Lafayette was the water, and Alex knew this because the water and his hand had the same consistency, same temperature.

When he turned his head, the world spun in a blur of colors and streaks, and for a second there was two sets of identical men in the doorway. “Sir, please. You’re agitating the patient.” Said one. Was he the patient? He wasn’t agitated...

“Oh, piss off! He’s not agitated, he’s sick and feverish! Fucking let me through!” Alex knew that voice... That voice was made of tinkling chimes on a warm summer day. That voice was made of sweet violins. That voice belonged to John Laurens, and damn anyone who kept them separated. Hamilton tried getting up, but his burning body refused to work with him.

“J-” His voice was not his own. Some horrible creature had taken over his vocal chords. “J...John...”

“Oh Jesus... Oh _God._ ” By some miracle, John managed to push through the one man barricade. In a matter of seconds, he was next to Alexander, sitting by Lafayette. “Alex... Alexander, my dearest.” His voice honestly wasn’t that much better than his boyfriends; it was wracked with stress and worry, cracking with sadness and anguish. He did not look the part of the sexy, suave man he usually was, rather it seemed like he played the part of a man with too little sleep and too much stress. “How are you feeling? I had to finish my double shift... I was at the children’s ward, at the other end. I’m sorry I couldn’t come...”

Hamilton licked his lips, reaching out to stroke John’s cheek. “Shit... F-feel like... ugh...” That brought a smile from the nurse, who took his hand and kissed it.

“Yeah? Why don’t you take it easy then? I can call your professors, tell them you won’t be coming in. You’re burning up, sweetheart, so please don’t argue.” Alex shook his head, John smoothed back his greasy hair. “Yeah, let’s do that plan.”

“H-Home... When c-can I go... home?” Hamilton asked, and he found John’s green eyes to be hypnotising. His eyes were of undiscovered jewels, perfect and precious. They were surrounded by freckles that Alex swore was dots of cinnamon, and he watched as gold settled among these emeralds in the ever dimming light. He coughed loudly, curling in on himself. The movement caused his stomach to flip and turn.

John smiled softly, leaning forward to kiss Hamilton’s forehead. He found his lips to be soothing and surprisingly cool.  “That is up to your doctor. You fainted at work, dearest, and threw up shortly after.”

“Work...” Echoed Alexander, who felt a pang of guilt for leaving Angelica.

“Right, work. But you’re not to think about work. You’re supposed to think about getting better.” Alex sneezed, and his head jutted sharply forward. The world turned into ocean, watery and weak and constantly changing. Only after closing his eyes for a bit did it turn into a solid matter. He could  see Lafayette and John glance fretfully at him, and then at each other, but only for a moment before flashing him a smile again. “You’re so cute, little lion.”

“What’s... g-gonna happen?” Lafayette took his hand, kissing it, and Alex could see that there were tears in his eyes. Why did both of them want to cry? He was fine. It was just the flu, after all, there was no need to act like such babies.

Of course, when his mother got sick they thought it was just the flu.

Alexander was sick as well. They said it was just the flu.

If it was just the flu, then why did his mother have to die? If it was just the flu, why was God so merciless?

“You, _mon ami_ , are going to lay here. For once in your life, you are going to sleep to your heart’s desire-”

“My heart does not have a d-desire... to... to s-sleep.” Interrupted Alex, voice quiet and rough.

“Even so, you’re shivering and you’re sweating at the same time. Eventually you’ll pass out from exhaustion.” Lafayette watched as Alex suddenly lurched forward, throwing up some bile. John called for a nurse, who brought a bucket of sorts. “Shh, shh, little lion. Let it all out.”

“H-hurts...” He complained, holding his stomach as he continued to retch, the sound coming out of his throat a horrible chorus of strangled screams.

John brushed some sweaty hair back, Lafayette ran his knuckles down the notches of Hamilton’s spine, both of them just trying to ease some comfort back into their very precious and very sick Alexander.

***

Night had extinguished the sun with its cool, alien glow, and the three men were still in the room, bathed in silver. John sat vigilantly next to Alex’s bedside, holding the ill man’s hand, rubbing over the fevered skin with the pad of his thumb. The lamp was turned on, but turned away from the bedside, rather focused on a thick volume in John’s lap. The font was tiny, but the concentration in his face could not be denied, and sometimes his mouth would move as he spoke the words silently. Lafayette was staring out the window, an unlit cigarette balanced precariously between his thin, spider-like fingers. A deep frown was on his face, as if he had something to say, but neither the guts nor the will to say it.

Alexander had gotten worse over the few hours he’d been there. His face turned into a waxy yellow, and he switched between shivering and shaking. John was just thankful the bleeding of his head wound had stopped, because in a few hours the doctors might be able to discharge him, and he could take his love home. If there was one thing that Alexander Hamilton hated most in the world, John knew, it was hospitals. To Alex, hospitals meant death, not recovery. The more he was going to be here, the more panic would set in his heart. John kept rubbing his knuckles, feeling the heat radiate off of him like a mini sun. He turned the page of his medical textbook. There was a test on Thursday, and he was hopelessly unprepared. At one point, he glanced at his companion at the window, and his frown grew deeper.

“If you feel the need to smoke, go outside. Polluted air is not good for Alex’s lungs.” Lafayette shrugged, still twirling the cigarette between his fingers as if it was a baton.

“Then why are we in the city? Reports say that smog and carbon dioxide-”

“Fuck off.” John spat, venom leaking from his mouth. “You know what I mean.” It was quiet for a while, the nurse read a few paragraphs over the most contagious types of bacteria, and how to spot their symptoms, the immigrant stared at him harshly, frozen in shock, the ill writer moaned softly in his fevered sleep. It sounded as if Alex’s lungs were that of an old car muffler, and he coughed with almost every breath he took. “Sorry... It’s been a rough day. I didn’t need to snap at you. You don’t deserve it.” He turned to Lafayette, who had let out a sigh.

“ _Non, mon ami,_ I do not. But I don’t blame you. A sick Alexander is not the best situation you could have hoped for this week.” He stuffed the cigarette back in the packaging, slipped that into his back pocket. “I haven’t smoked in three months, I’m not starting now. I feel like I could beat Mulligan at this contest.” John smiled at him. Hercules and Lafayette had an ongoing bet to see who could go the longest without chewing or smoking tobacco products.

“Second-hand smoking counts, you know.”

“Sure, sure... How’s Alexander doing?” Lafayette crossed to the other side of the bed, running his fingers over his arm.

John checked his temperature. “Still 103.7. At least it hasn’t gone up. My poor lion... Where has your roar gone?” He asked Alexander, who struggled to inhale properly. There was really nothing the nurses and doctors could do except monitor his condition, so he was doomed to suffer.

Lafayette shook his head, kissing Alex’s sweaty forehead. Meanwhile, John turned back to his medical book, impeccably clean fingers running over the paper as he memorised vocabulary. He wished he had the knack for languages Alex and Lafayette had; knowing Latin roots certainly would have made this easier. “It hurts my heart to see him in this state, John. Knowing Alexander... We probably could’ve prevented this.”

That brought the tiniest of chuckles out of John. “Knowing Alex we probably did better than our best. You know how he is, Laf, with him, sickness is inevitable. We can just pray we catch the symptoms early enough on.”

“But we didn’t this time.”

“We’ve been busy. We caught the last three, which is good. Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as worried as you are, but I’ve learned that when it comes to my dear Alex, he tends to surprise me when I least expect it.”

The other man just hummed in response, taking a liking to brushing back Hamilton’s hair. John knew that the world didn’t stop because Alex was sick. He knew that if his boyfriend found out he’d been neglecting his studies just to fondle and worry over him there’d be a fight of biblical proportions. That’s what happened the first few times Alex had landed himself in the hospital, and John was not in the mood to ever recreate that argument. Besides, if John didn’t do well and get his M.D in medicine, then all of Alexander’s hard work, all his stress and his own failing grades, would be for shit. His world did not stop because the sun dimmed itself; his world just got a little more dark and a little less warm.

“I’m still worried, _mon ami_...” Lafayette whispered, and you’d have to be a fool not to hear the break in his voice. John, in other circumstances, would find this funny. Their roles were usually reversed, with John being the worrywart in their family, trying to keep Alex from harm, and with Lafayette being the calm, mother-like figure. However, this was not the time nor the place to make jokes. “Mulligan said that there was a lot of blood.”

John closed his thick book, placing it on the floor. “Mulligan also faints at the sight of it. He’s okay, Laf. He’s gonna be okay, because he’s our Alexander.” He looked over at his friend, and opened up his arms. “Come here.”

Once Lafayette was safe in his arms, John kissed his jaw, smoothed back his rough hair, told him how much he loved him, and how much Alex appreciated his homemade meals. This continued for a while, until John noticed that Alex’s eyes were open. The brown iris usually glittered in the night, like two independant stars shining on their own, but now they were dull, like beetles in the dirt.

“Alex?” John tested out the name, and the sick man did not react. “Alexander? Can you hear me?”

“Mom... Mother... It’s too dark... Help me, mother, I’m b-burn-ning....” Gently, John pushed Lafayette off, and he grabbed Hamilton’s hand again, stroking it.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I promise it’s okay.” Alex’s breathing quickened, as if he was running a marathon. Sweat rolled down his face, and John saw that his teeth were chattering. Dark red spots had spotted on his lovely cheeks. “Alex, baby, focus on my voice. Focus on my voice. I love you. Lafayette is right here. We’re not leaving. We’re not-”

John’s calm voice was lost in the wild, animal-like screams of Alex.


	2. le tremblement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Were you watching porn?”  
> “W-What?”  
> “When I called out your name you shut the dvd player quickly. I was just wondering if you were watching porn. Most people are embarrassed if they’re caught doing that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyyy  
> wow i didn't think i could write another chapter this week but oops anxiety and end of friendships. this is really sad but also really happy? idk. i really wanted delirious alex but i've got another thing planned for that so that'll be out in the next chapter or two. 
> 
> the french pet names laf uses are my love, my heart, little turtle, and cute little kitten.

JL: _alex was moved to the icu a bit ago. i think seizures started up. kind of freaking out._

HM: _omw. do  you need anything?_

JL: _i need alex to be okay._

HM: _just take deep breaths, kid. this is alex we’re talking about, he’ll power through it. what  about some powerade?_

JL: _what if he doesn’t? and no. powerade makes me want to throw up. if  anything, go to the house and get alex some pyjamas.  the  ones with the  american flags. also the portable movie player and some disney movies.  laf wants some strawberries._

HM: _noted. just hang in there, john. i love you._

 

John sighed, locking his phone and laying in Lafayette’s lap. This was how they normally worked, with the immigrant petting the nurse’s hair, holding him in a possessive grip. The clock in the waiting room said 2:54 a.m.

They’d been out here for an hour.

Alex had been alone for an hour.

“John...” Lafayette sounded lifeless, his voice monotone and flat. “You should sleep. You have class tomorrow, and it’s important that you get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’m not sleeping.” Argued John, and the way his jaw was set said that it was not open for discussion. “How can I sleep when I don’t know if Alex is ever going to be okay? How can I live when my dear Hamilton is so close to death? I’m not going to class tomorrow.”

 “You need to go to class.”

 “Oh?” John sat up, malice in his voice and fire in his eyes. “I should go to class when my boyfriend is _in that room screaming his fucking lungs out?_  I should go to class when _I can’t even fucking focus on the book in my hands?_ I should go to class when I’m a _fucking wreck, because I don’t know when Alexander is going to wake up?_ I should go to class, Lafayette?! I should go!?” He was yelling now, the ends of his words echoing like gunshots. John moved over a seat, hugging himself tightly, as if to keep his heart from shattering. “I can’t go... Please don’t make me go... Not without my dear Alexander...”

 Lafayette pulled him back, stroking his hair again. “Okay. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking, just... I don’t know what to do. He’s never been in this much pain with us before. The doctors said that he’d started to have a seizure.”

 “I... I know what the doctors said, Laf... I know why they pushed us out of the room like we were nothing. But we’re not nothing. We’re Alex’s support, his comfort. God... I wish I had something for him. I wish I could ease his pain, because he always eases mine.” John leaned against Lafayette, twiddling his thumbs, anger from the previous outburst long since stale. He had deflated like a balloon.

 For a long while, the two men just sat there, drowning and suffocating in their own agonizing panic, because even if they assured the other of Alex’s safety and wellbeing, that, _no, he wasn’t going to turn out like his mother,_  that, _no, they wouldn’t have to bury his body in three days time,_ that, _no,  this wasn’t going to be a regular occurrence_ , it still wasn’t enough to ease their frazzled minds, it still wasn’t enough to convince them of that silver lining just up ahead. It still wasn’t enough to see the dawn just over the horizon.

 Without Alexander Hamilton in their lives, they were doomed to eternal darkness.

 At one point in the early morning hours, Hercules arrived, strong arms full of plastic and cloth. His hair was damp, water shined in the faint yellow light, and John didn’t remember hearing rain outside. But maybe even the sky was weeping for the group. Maybe the sky knew the person it was going to potentially lose, and it wept because of the things the man could no longer accomplish. Without a word spoken, the large man dropped the bags onto the ground, wrapping John and Lafayette in his arms. Hercules was warm and comforting, and John appreciated everything offered to him. He loved how he smelled of leather and sweet perfume. He loved how his warm lips brushed his head. He loved how his voice sounded as he talked to them quietly. He loved Hercules, but he wasn’t Alexander. Alexander was like fire and ice at the same time. Alexander smelled of ink and paper and chives and those caribbean spices he put on _everything_ at dinner. Alexander’s voice was loud and passionate and holy _fuck_ did it send shivers down John’s spine when he got going on a speech about human rights or christmas. Hercules wasn’t Alex, but for now it was as good as it was going to get. John started to cry in his shoulder, Hercules rubbed his back.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, John. I’m sorry you have to go through this. I’m sorry that I couldn’t catch him as he fell. I’m so sorry. Just let it all out, it’s okay.” His voice was deep and low, and it calmed John a little bit. He felt Hercules go through one of the bags, and John looked through blurry, tear filled eyes that what he grabbed was a bag of sliced oranges. “Eat at least one slice. I know oranges are your favorite. You gotta eat, John.”

“‘M not hungry, Mulligan...” Jesus, he sounded dead. A slice of cold fruit was placed on his lips, and he shivered from the sudden temperature change. But Hercules wouldn’t cease until John at least sucked on the orange.The citrus woke  him up, sent a buzz through his teeth and down into his bones. “Thanks...”

A blanket was put over his shoulder, and he was swaddled in soft warmth. “Just calm down, okay? You’re going to have an attack if you keep this amount of stress up. Alex will be fine. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah... Yeah... Thanks, Herc.”

“Do we know anything about Alex? Can I bring him his pyjamas?”

“ _Non._ Visitors aren’t allowed until they know he’s stable.” Replied Lafayette, who searched for his strawberries.”All they told us was that his fever was extremely high, and that we were lucky he was already in the hospital. We haven’t seen him in hours. No one has come to talk to us. We’re in the dark, Hercules. We’re in the dark and we’re suffering.” He opened the box, popped one of the red fruit in his mouth. John saw it burst, and some juice dribbled down his chin. He leaned over it kissed it away.

Hercules rubbed both their backs, pulled them closer. “Well never fear. Until we hear of Alex’s state, we’re gonna watch some disney movies.”

“Herc-” John started to complain, but Lafayette shot him a look, and he quieted down. It was a lost cause to try and make him happy, because the only one that could do that was down a hallway and to the right. He wondered if Alex was screaming his name. He wondered if Alex was in a lot of pain, or if they had shot so many drugs up his system that he felt nothing at all. He wondered if Alex had lost his life, and the doctors didn’t know how to tell him.

He didn’t know if he _wanted_ the doctors to tell him.

John thought it might be better to live in ignorance than know if his boyfriend was dead.

He rubbed his eyes, laid his head in Hercules’ lap, and focused on the opening credits of the movie. He hoped this was a sad one. John didn’t think he could handle a happy ending right now, not when his looked so grim.

***

The next thing John remembered was Lafayette running his fingers through his hair. He knew it was Lafayette, because Hercules’ were more short and stubby, like the fried sausages his mother used to make before she died. These digits were long and slender and cold, pleasant ice icicles burying in his scalp. His lips and mouth were dry from dehydration, and there was a part of him - the rational nurse part of him - that knew he should get up and take care of himself. Alexander was a hypocrite, and if John returned to him as skin and bones there would be hell to pay. But he was almost positive that depression had taken hold now, and getting up would be impossible to do. It felt like ten pound weights had been tied to his heart with chains, dragging the light, airy happiness and love he felt down to the deepest pits of the ocean, where it was dense and suffocating.

“Sweetheart, _mon amor,_ _petite tortue._ ” They were alone. Lafayette spoke french pet names only when alone. What time was it? John felt his face heating up, and he buried into the frenchman’s lap to hide from the searing brightness of his eyelids. “Time to wake up.”

“Time?” John asked, voice muffled and wrecked with the hours of uneasy sleep he got.

“Seven thirty-nine. You slept for three hours, how do you feel?”

It didn’t matter how John felt. John wasn’t going to work for the government and end up passing bills and laws to make the lives of the American people happier and safer. In the grand scheme of things, he knew the universe disliked him, so it didn’t matter. “How’s Alex?”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

John grunted, feeling boiling fury cascade through his veins. Didn’t Lafayette understand? Didn’t Lafayette know that neither of them were worth two shits in the eyes of God when he could gaze upon his angel Alexander? Didn’t Lafayette realize that Alex was the most important human alive. Those hands, rough around the edges with callouses from lack of care, would write them all to some place better. Those endless eyes, sparkling like their own universe, would envision a brand new, bright world for all of them, a world where  John wouldn’t have to worry about still being in the closet with his family, a world where Lafayette could live at home comfortably without being beaten. A world where John didn’t have to worry about Alexander being in the hospital.

“Fine. I feel like shit, okay? I’m so emotionally drained right now that I wouldn’t care if my fucking father walked in with the knowledge that I was gay. I wouldn’t care if my sisters said they hated me. I wouldn’t care if you left me. I’m tired as fuck, my stomach feels like it’s inside of a goddamn butter churn. And I know you feel the same way. So let me ask _you,_ Lafayette, how do _you_ feel. And  I don’t mean right this instance. I mean in general.”

He saw Lafayette narrow his eyes, purse his lips. “What the fuck is your problem, Laurens?”

“My... my problem?” John sat up, and unlike the early morning hours, the frenchman did not try and pull him back. There was barbed wire between the two men in the waiting room, and they had daggers for tongues and poison darts for words. “I don’t have a problem except for the fact that you keep asking me about how I am, when I’m not _the important one. I’m not the one in the fucking hospital._ It doesn’t matter how I am. Why can’t you be worried about Alex for once?!”

Lafayette pulled up his shirt. On his skin, his beautiful, smooth skin that the other three loved to kiss and run their fingers over, were dark green and yellow bruises. Only Hercules knew the full story of why he had them, because he was the one to rescue Lafayette. The furthest John knew about his situation was that upon returning to his family from months of being on the road, he was frequently beaten. He knew Alex had heard of this tale as well, for he never said a word when he woke up to go make coffee in the mornings and spotted the bloodied and bruised frenchman passed out on the couch.

“My family beats me. I don’t know how much Hercules has told you, or how much you’ve deducted on your own, but they beat me. They beat me because I wanted to go to a college with lots of political activism, and when I asked them about it their response was less than happy. I drove myself into emotional turmoil because all I wanted to do is please them, my mother and grandmother. I left and didn’t come back for months, mostly because my scholarship at the college had run out, and I had to return home. To this day, I’m still beaten for retreating, even though I know I’ve made my family name proud.

“I ask how you are, John, because that is the only thing I can do. When I am struck, the only thing I’m able to do is take it like a brave warrior because I’m not about to hit my own mother. While Alexander is in that room, there is nothing I am able to do except focus my hurt and worry on others in the form of comfort. I need to know you’re doing well so I can put my mind at ease. It’s one thing to have Alexander sick, but to have you perish as well under my watch is unthinkable. No one would ever forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me. So don’t think I’m not worried for our star. I am. I love Alexander with every fiber of my being, and if he were to die I would fade away like a flower. But I can’t do anything.”

“You can stop asking me how I am. It reminds me of what’s happened and how completely shit I feel for not being able to stop it.” John spoke quietly, briskly, and when Lafayette raised his arm he flinched. But he was not hit, rather his hair was being ruffled. “Laf, what-”

“Shh, _mon petite tortue,_ ” He whispered, and then there was forgiveness in the form of a hug. “It’s okay. I won’t ask you anymore. I know it hurts you now.”

“How’s... How’s Alex?” The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them.

“He’s stable now. They’ve got everything under control. He didn’t have a seizure, thank the Lord, but they kept us out of there for a while so we didn’t over excite him. Fever’s at a 103.6, but I think since you’re a nurse they’re willing to let him go home today. Mulligan is in there right now. I think Alexander woke up from his delirium and panicked. I think he would have liked to see you, but you were curled up in my lap like a _mignon petit chaton_ that I couldn’t bare to wake you.”

“So... He’s alive?” John could barely suck in a breath. Was that really what he was hearing? Was his Alexander, his angel, his star, alive?

“Why, my Laurens,” Lafayette said, a chuckle infecting his words, and smile on his face. “I thought that was quite obvious.”

***

Though Alexander Hamilton may have won the battle, he certainly did not win the war.

John almost broke down at the sight of his boyfriend.

Only with Alex was it possible to lose ten pounds in a single night. He looked like a ghost of famine, like something out of the Grimm’s fairy tales come to life. Skin hung off of his jowl, bags had formed under his beautiful chocolate eyes, and those irises looked so enervated that John swore they were dead. When he did take a breath - which wasn’t very often - John noticed that it rattled in his lungs, as if he was one hundred instead of a young man. Hercules had set up a movie on the portable DVD player for Alex to watch, and he stuck some ice chips in his mouth every so often, keeping his fingers caught in there for a second, sucking on them. Lafayette and Hercules were outside of the room talking, so John took a step forward.

“Alex?” He asked, and part of him wished his partner didn’t catch his name, because it was one thing to look at him, but it was another thing to actually hear his voice.

However, the sick man looked over at him, and he quickly shut the movie and slipped off the headphones, put the cup of ice chips on the bedstand. “J-John!” Yep. Even with that one word there was that voice crack. John felt his heart snap in two, because why did Alex had to suffer this much? What the hell did he do to incur this wrath?

But in any event, John Laurens flashed him a smile, the exact one he gave him while flirting at the bar they met at. “Hiya, babe. Feeling any better?”

Alexander smiled back, and maybe it was supposed to be suave and sexy, but it came off as weak and a little bit creepy. John stifled a laugh. “N-Now that you’re h..here? Lo...Loads.”

“Oh yeah? Ready to go home? I hear your boyfriend is a nurse, so he might be able to get you out later today. What do you say to that?”

“F-Fuck... Ye...Yeah.”

“I thought so. Were you watching porn?” John kept his voice nice and steady. He didn’t want to stress Alex out, so he forced all of his worry into wiggling and rocking on his toes. He wanted to keep up this friendly banter for as long as possible.

“W-What?”

“When I called out your name you shut the dvd player quickly. I was just wondering if you were watching porn. Most people are embarrassed if they’re caught doing that.”

Alexander blushed a deep red. “N-No! Shut u-up, John-” He dissolved into a back-breaking coughing fit, in which he had to lean over and cover his mouth. Honestly, John wasn’t surprised vomit and blood weren’t oozing out through his fingers, but he didn’t argue with fate anymore. He took what he could take with Alex. When he had regained his composure, the sick man sat up again and wheezed before continuing. “L-Lion King... Mulligan set... set u-up Lion K-King for me to wa...watch. I c-closed it when I hea...heard you because it’s r-rude not to give one’s boyf-friend one’s undivided at-tention.”

John smiled and took the few steps towards the bed. He took one of the other man’s hands and kissed it. “Oh? How thoughtful of you.”

“Isn’t i-it?” Ales raised his eyebrows, biting his lips. “D’you... maybe w-wanna cuddle?”

John pretended to go through his phone and look at his clock, humming as if he was really, truly thinking about it. Of course he was going to say yes, this was Alexander Hamilton, after all. If you said no or disagreed with him, you were in for a world of hurt and insult. However, this opportunity to mess with him was just too good to pass up. “I dunno... my schedule seems to be pretty filled, my dear Hamilton. At nine I’ve got brunch with the president... eleven-thirty I’m gonna go cure cancer... I’m a very busy man, I don’t know if I have time for cuddles anymore.”

“Y-You’re such... an a-ass.” Alex mumbled, a deep frown on his face. John smiled again and licked his lips, looking at the floor for a while. He took a deep breath in, letting the very familiar smell of the hospital fill him up. When he exhaled, he could taste his breath, putrid and disgusting, like week old garlic. Jesus, he needed to brush his teeth. But he looked up at his boyfriend, he kept the same chesire grin about him.

“But you love me for it.” He explained, and he slipped under the covers when Alexander had made room for him. He pulled him close, and even if it frightened John to no end that he could feel Alex’s congested heartbeat through the thin, almost rice-paper quality of the hospital gown, he still would treasure this moment forever. He felt Hamilton press a kiss to his nose.

“But I l-love you f-for it.” Alexander confirmed, and his smile was infectious.

There the two sat for hours on end, though they did not finish the movies. As a mother chided her child to study for an upcoming test, Alexander Hamilton reprimanded John Laurens for not putting his utmost and full concentration into his schooling, and so that was how they ended up, Alex in John’s lap, John reading to Alex from his medical textbook. Alexander was so warm. He was warm with fever and warm with love, and John didn’t know which one radiated right now, but he supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Alex was _here_ and he was _alive_ and John wouldn’t have it any other way. He loved how Alex leaned into him, putting all of his trust into him. He loved how he pointed at the words that he didn’t understand, and listened intently when the vocab was given to him. He loved how Alex kissed him on his jaw.

John just loved Alexander Hamilton, and he would do everything in his power to make him happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the nice comments everyone! you're also the reason why this got updated so quickly. thank you so much for reading and supporting me!


	3. la intrusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “W-Why couldn’t we have... have t-taken the elevator? It would... Would’ve b-been faster...”  
> “It would have, yes. Except the elevator’s broken.”  
> “W-What? F-fuck... What the f-fuck would... would do such a t-thing?”  
> “A person, sweetheart, not a thing. Mulligan broke it on one of his famous temper tantrums.”  
> “Oh,”  
> “Oh.”  
> “Mulligan is k-kind of a hulk some...sometimes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this'll probably be the last chapter for a week or two, simply because i've got an apush test coming up, and i should study for that, and also my job. i'm also really tired oops. but i still love comments, you know! tell me what you guys would like to see in this story, and i'll incorporate it!
> 
> thanks for reading this shitty thing. this is all fluff because last chapter was sad.

“Lean on me,” John said, keeping a firm grip on Alexander’s waist. He could hear his boyfriend coughing and wheezing as they paused on the stairs for what seemed the thousandth time. At times like these, he really hated living on the sixth floor, because it was hard for Alex to manage the climb on a good day, and it was hell for the both of them when he was in this state. “That’s it, Alex, lean on me. There we go. There we go.” He brushed his hair back, listened to him take rattling breaths. John lowered the sick man down, wrapping his arms around him, tight enough so that he could feel safe and secure, but loose enough so that his lungs weren’t constricted.

Alex looked up at him with dull brown eyes, red and puffy around the edges. John wished he could take away the panic in his heart. “J-John... I-” He started hacking up his lungs again, and there was nothing none of them could do except sit there and wait for the storm to pass.

“It’s okay. Come on. We’re almost there.”

“W-Why couldn’t we have... have t-taken the elevator?” He whined. “It would... Would’ve b-been faster...”

The other man smiled, combing his fingers through Hamilton’s shoulder length hair. It probably had been a good couple of days since he’d showered, because the hair stuck together in strands as John pulled away. His skin was grimy and grubby, like he’d slept in a vat of grease instead of a clean hospital bed. John noted that he’d have to give Alex a bath, which he really didn’t mind. Some people (named Lafayette) didn’t understand that John Laurens _never_ got tired of playing nurse to Alexander Hamilton. In fact, it made him light up like a goddamn Christmas tree when the stubborn writer asked for his help. “It would have, yes. Except the elevator’s broken.”

“W-What?” Alex nearly shouted, and a strangled cry cut off the word halfway. “F-fuck... What the f-fuck would... would do such a t-thing?” At that, John chuckled,

“A person, sweetheart, not a thing. Mulligan broke it on one of his famous temper tantrums.”

Hamilton seemed to remember that incident. His eyes lit up with recollection of a few weeks ago where the large, burly man, cheeks flushed with alcohol and movement shushy with bourbon, mashed the buttons into the wall so hard it trapped them between the third and fourth floors for a couple of hours. It had been inoperable since, and rent had been considerably high for the household. “Oh,” Hamilton replied quietly.

“Oh.” Agreed John, nodding his head.

“Mulligan is k-kind of a hulk some...sometimes.”

“And you’re kind of sick sometimes. You’re sick right now, so let’s get you back to the apartment. C’mon, only two more floors to go, Alex. I know you can do it.” John helped him up, and they resumed their position. Hamilton acted drunk, feet tripping over the other in an attempt to get up a stair, skin feeling as if it had been in a steam press, eyes foggy and dull. John pulled him close, keeping his right arm around him in case he felt the need to faint.

Up they climbed, and Alex hazily took note of how the tones of beige and brown moved along the walls in waves. He didn’t like waves.Waves meant ocean and ocean meant hurricane and hurricane meant no more home. If there was a hurricane here, Alexander would have no home anymore, he would not have a John Laurens anymore. There would be no more Lafayette to cheer up, and there would be no more Hercules to laugh at so hard until milk dribbled out of his nose. If there was a hurricane, there would be no Eliza to fawn over or Jefferson to gawk at, or Washington to follow.

Alexander thought a lot about hurricanes when he’d been alone in the hospital.

He thought about the day it started raining endlessly on top of him. Alex wasn’t sure the rain was ever going to end. Beaches, schools, businesses were closed, and all the televisions were more static than picture. He could tell you that the winds were strong enough to blow a grown man down, enough to rip stop signs from grass and cars from the asphalt. He could tell you that the rain stung like bees, like needles in your skin. Alex could tell you it looked like hell had wrought death and destruction in St. Croix.  He’d only been seventeen, only ripped from his mother’s teat only five years prior, and he was so unprepared. He’d still been in his office at the local trading company when the storm hit. He remembered that job. It was basically a mail delivery and coffee errand type position, but God did he enjoy it.

Yes, Alexander Hamilton could remember what the day started out as. That was the hard part.

The easy part was remembering the suffering.

When the hurricane finally hit, it had been dusk. The darkness had surrounded him, swathed him, but Hamilton was not born from the darkness. He was crushed by it, and as such was unprepared when it had hit him. No longer was he a man built of strong bone and steely nerves. No longer did he have control of his body. In this darkness, in this tempest of biblical proportions, Alexander Hamilton was a ragdoll. His muscles turned to straw, neurons to yarn, bones to fabric. He was tossed back and forth by the wind and rain, all of his hard work gone and lost as it flew to heaven or smashed into the sea. It was only at ten o’clock did the torment finally cease.

And then the screaming began.

The sky was yellow. Jesus, was the sky yellow. Like dandelions. Alex had stared at that wondrous sky for all of a minute when he heard the shriek of the first victim. He hadn’t screamed, or rather, wouldn’t scream. His screams had been wasted that day in bed with his dead mother. No, this was a child, the sex which Alexander couldn’t quite place. But he crawled to them, held them as they screamed for Rebecca, screamed for Julian, screamed for Rocko, and for their mother and father. Yet there was only Alex. Poor, weak, insufferable Alexander Hamilton, who had no medical knowledge to help shove the bone back into the child’s arm or stop the bleeding from the skull. He could only tell them how they’d be back soon, and then it would be okay. But it wasn’t, because Alex got to see the light leave the child’s eyes, the red bubble in their throat finally pop as they exhaled their last breath. Alex got to see the ocean waves carry the child’s body away.

Hurricanes brought on all sorts of wailing, and in a span of fifteen minutes, he’d heard them all. Forlorn wailing for a lost loved one, furious screeching at the damaged property, distressed yelping at the unknown. Alex stayed silent in shock, a frozen statue among the dangerous debris. For a moment, everything was quiet. The sky was still yellow and he was still alive, and he foolishly thought that maybe the worst was over. Maybe this had all been a very bad dream. Except the hurricane had a second battle to win, and when it came it came with a punch. It was worse this time, because Alex was already so broken. His arm hurt, his head was bleeding, and he was pretty sure at one point he’d been underwater, because he still was coughing up green like he was made of the stuff. For some time after, he just sat on some floating debris, panting, eyes looking around wildly, hoping that someone would come find him. Eventually he was, by the American Coast Guard, and they helped him find his way home again, except it wasn’t really home. The hurricane had destroyed his home.

“Alex, Alexander.” A soft, familiar voice tugged at him. “Where are you, lion?”

“I...” His throat felt rough, constricted. It hurt to talk or swallow. Was he underwater again? Did he swallow the sea? If he looked at the sky, would it be a deadly yellow? “I-I’m sorry...” 

“Shh, shh. Just come back to me. You’re forgiven.”

But the dead in St. Croix hadn’t absolved him of his crime of living. To this day, Alex still lived with ghosts.

Eventually Alexander realized that he’d been lost in his memories, and that he was actually lying on the couch in their apartment. There were no more waves on the walls, only popcorn bursts on the ceilings. That was okay. He noticed that there was a cold press on his forehead, and warm blankets wrapped around him tightly. “J-John?” He called out tentatively, like he was afraid that his boyfriend was just a ghost sent to haunt him.

He looked at the doorway as the nurse appeared, drying his hands on a towel they’d gotten from their glorious capital of the country. He wasn’t dressed in his work scrubs anymore, rather a white v-neck and dark blue jeans. Alex reached out his arms for him, a pout on his little face, and John walked right into them, stroking his hair and his cheek. “What’s the matter, baby? You’re never this sentimental.”

“H-Hur...Hurricane,” Managed Alexander weakly, burying his face into John’s strong collarbone. He smelled like the hospital, which he hated, but also of mint and gunpowder, which he loved. John Laurens was magnetic, metallic, herbal, and relaxing, and Alexander Hamilton could drink in his scent all day long if he was able.

“I know. You passed out right before we got inside, and in your sleep you thrashed around and screamed. It was frightening, but eventually you went silent.”

“S-Scared...” He whined, and he felt tears poke at his closed eyelids.

“I know, baby. What’re you scared of? Are you scared of the hurricane itself, or the destruction of property, or losing your friends?”

“Fri...Friends...”

John peeled Alex off for just a moment to put the thermometer under his tongue and click the button, and then put his ear right where his heartbeat was. “Alexander Hamilton, do you hear this heartbeat? It’s mine. It’s your Laurens’ heartbeat, and it beats only for you, my dear. I can promise you wholeheartedly that nothing can keep us apart. Not our jobs, not the law of the country, and certainly not something as minor as a hurricane. I know you’re scarred from this, that you’re miserable when a storm hits, but it’s okay. I’m always going to be here. I’m never going to leave, sweetheart, and neither is Lafayette, or Hercules, or Angelica, or Eliza, or Burr. I’m sorry to say this, baby, but you’re stuck with us for all of eternity.”

When the device beeped, John took it out and looked at it. In flashing green letters it read 103.2. It was going down, but very slowly, and he wondered how Alex felt inside that boiling skin of his. He kept his miserable boyfriend close to him, rocking him. “Hurricanes happen very rarely here, anyways. You’re safe, and even if there happened to be one, I’ve got emergency kits here and at our work places. You’re always going to be safe, Alexander. There will be no more hurricane to taunt you, no more ghosts to haunt you, and no wind to abduct you. As long as we love each other, nothing will tear us apart.”

Alex, this time, was the one to pull away. He looked at John and saw nothing but truth in his green eyes. “R-really?” He coughed harshly, covering his mouth, and he felt John pet some stray hairs back behind his ears.

“Really really.” His smile was soft, his freckles shining like golden stars. It made Alex want to cry because _John was so beautiful. John was so beautiful he could have been a God on Olympus but he was_ here _with this fucking mess of a man, a mere human that was flawed and ugly like the dirt it was born from._

“I l-love you.” Alexander stated simply, because he couldn’t form the words he needed. Around John, his brain failed him and he went all stupid. Even alone, he couldn’t seem to transfer his feelings onto paper or screen.

“I love you, too. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

“I k-know.”

“Let’s go and give you a bath, yeah? I love you, babe, but you smell like shit.” Alex smiled and nodded, letting John help him up and go into the bathroom. The walls were tiled, and they might have been a pristine white when it was first built, but after decades of owners and drunken nights, the porcelain squares had turned dirty and discolored, and no matter how many times they scrubbed with the heavy duty chemicals, none of them could get the original tint. As a result, the bathroom always smelled of strong cleaner, mainly bleach. “Ah, you’re shaking so much.”

Alex smiled as he sat on the toilet, watching as John turned on the water. “How’re you f-feeling, John?”

“Fine, Alex.” John replied, and he came over to help him get undressed. It was a struggle, with Alexander’s weak body not being able to bend easily, and the way he shook with every breath didn’t particularly help. But as always, they managed. That was how the household functioned, by always managing. By the time his shirt, pants, and underwear was off, warm water had completely filled the tub.

“B-But-” The sick man started, and John quickly pulled him up on two feet.

“Stop. You’re shaking. If you don’t get in the tub now, your fever will rise. Come on, don’t be stubborn.”

“But-”

“Alex.”

“ _John._ ” His voice came out strong and clear, and the nurse paused the short distance to the tub. He stared at Alexander, tried to see if he had possibly gone delirious, but the brown eyes were not glinted in a crazed way, his pupils were normal sized, and though he felt hot, his skin was not burning like fire anymore. “Are you s-sure you’re fi...fine? B-Because if you’re n-not...” Alex started hacking, doubling over, and John had to catch him so he didn’t crack his head again. They didn’t need another trip to the hospital. Bills were already high enough.

“But I am. Don’t you dare fucking say that you can take care of yourself, Alexander.” John’s tone was firm and forceful, and he made Alex look at him. His eyes were now full of salty tears, and for a moment he was almost felt guilty about how he scolded him, but it needed to be said. “Don’t you dare fucking say that, because everyone knows you can’t. I know it, Laf knows it, Herc knows it, heck, I’m pretty sure Jefferson knows it.”

“F-Fuck Jefferson.” Alex spat, and he felt John haul him up and into the bathtub.

The water wasn’t scalding hot, rather a nice warm temperature. The steam helped clear his blocked sinuses, and no longer did his chest feel as if it was being danced upon by fifteen elephants. Alexander couldn’t help but allow his eyes to slip shut, and he didn’t notice how tired the short walk and the undressing made him. A normal sick person could do normal tasks for themselves, like make a can of chicken noodle soup and stand for an hour or two. But Alex, when he was sick, couldn’t even stand for thirty seconds without wanting to take a nap. He didn’t even _like_ naps, because that was time wasted when he could be writing and working. Some water ran down his head, soaking him completely. But as long he felt John touching him, Alex wasn’t afraid.

He felt some gloopy liquid run onto his scalp, and for a minute he shivered from the slight coldness. “Yes, yes, fuck Jefferson.” John said, massaging shampoo into his hair. A strong mint scent filled the room, and even he was almost put under its cool spell. Alex was already weak in the head, with any luck he’d be mostly asleep by the end of the bath.

Alexander opened his eyes slightly, staring at his Laurens. John was a sight to behold when he was concentrating on a task. Eyes slightly furrowed, tongue slightly pushed through his teeth, and every so often his nostrils would flare. He raised a wet hand and caressed his cheek. “You’re b-bea...beautiful.” He whispered.

John nudged his dripping hand away. “You’re delirious,” He replied.  

A loud chortle. “Y-Yeah! Deliriously-in love... with y-you!”

“I swear to _God_ , I will drown you.” However, the smile on his face couldn’t be hidden. John was careful not to get any soap in his eye as he washed the shampoo out of Alex’s hair, and he hummed an unfamiliar tune. Alex just let himself fully relax, felt the steam infiltrate him and kill of some of the pain. He coughed sometimes, harshly, and he knew gunk was starting to build up in his chest. This was going to be a fun night.

The only thing that broke the rhythmic silence the two had worked himself into was the vibration of Alexander’s phone. John removed his hands from his boyfriend’s head, dried them, and looked at the cell phone. On the LED screen was three missed calls from work, and about ten unread texts from Jefferson.

_Goat-Fucker: Hey. Where are you?_

_Goat-Fucker: Burr, Madison, and I are all here. The fuck are you?_

_Goat-Fucker: Are you deliberately ignoring my texts? This is just like you, Hamilton._

_Goat-Fucker: Hurry up and get here. Stop fucking your boyfriend._

_Goat-Fucker: Sorry, is being a dirty little whore more important than the running of this country?_

_Goat-Fucker: Burr says for me to apologize. Sorry._

_Goat-Fucker: LOL SIKE I’M NOT_

_Goat-Fucker: Alexander. This is Burr. We really need you to answer us. If something happened and you can’t make it, that’s fine, we just need your notes._

_Goat-Fucker: Please contact Jefferson at the nearest possible convenience._

“John?” Alex leaned over the tub, sloshing water over the sides as he reached his arm out for his phone. John possessively pulled away. Hamilton did not need to see this. If he did, he would jump out of the tub and run out the door to fix this problem. He wouldn’t rest. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t remember that he was sick and that he needed to take care of himself, lest he get worse. If Alexander got a hold of his phone and saw this, all he would know is that he needed to _work,_ and the therapeutic exercises John was trying on him to get him to relax would be worth shit. “J-John.... Who is th...that.?”

The nurse put the phone on the tiled counter, turning back to the sick man. He pushed him back, caressing his cheek with his cool hand. Alex was still so warm. Maybe it was the water, but it felt like his temperature had gone up. “No one, dearest. Just some notifications from some of your news apps. It’s okay, no one needs you to do anything right now. Just relax.”

“But-”

“Alex,” His voice was a soft warning.

“John,” His voice was a broken pleading. “What if I g-get... f-fired?”

“You won’t.” John replied simply, grabbing a fluffy white towel from the rack. Alex didn’t need to be told when to get out; his skin was going to start to prune and he hated that. He climbed out of the tub and into John’s strong arms. If Hamilton was a sapling, swayed and bent so easily by the wind, then Laurens was a tall red oak, traditional and strong, letting no man convince him of wrongness when he knew he was right. Alex wanted to be a red oak, but he simply didn’t have the energy. Even getting out of the water made him lightheaded, and he coughed so loudly and harshly it echoed for a couple seconds.

“‘M not t-there...” He pointed out, meaning work. He felt John rub soothing circles into his overheated skin. Alex felt like he was boiling, he could feel his cheeks throbbing with blood, and there were black dots in his vision.

“Right, you’re not.” John sounded so far away. “You’re taking a sick day, Alexander. Everyone takes sick days. Washington won’t fire you for taking a couple of days to care for yourself.”

“John... ‘m so... t-tired...”

A soft kiss was placed on his cheek, and Hamilton finally let his eyes close. “Then sleep, my dear one. I’ll take care of you.” And as Alexander finally drifted off, John smiled, because he had won. He'd finally done the impossible; get Alexander Hamilton tired enough to sleep.


	4. la colère

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John would make the panic go away, except John didn’t want him anymore.
> 
> There was a single text among the dozens of missed calls. A single text from the man he loved.
> 
> My John <3: Don’t bother coming home tonight. You didn’t take your keys and I locked the door. I was going to try and apologize, but you’re being a complete and total ass, so don’t even text me. Goodbye, Alex. I’ll have Laf bring you your stuff. Good luck. 
> 
> Alexander started screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this chapter short? This seems really short, idk... I have finals in about two weeks so I should start studying for that. But I also lose my school computer then as well so I need to download the Hamilton soundtrack and figure out how I'm gonna post.

The world was a soft yellow.

The world was the sound of slow, smooth, connected words

The world smelled of mint and paper and wax.

This was Alexander Hamilton’s world, and he was infatuated with it.

He laid in John’s arms, listening to him read out of his medical textbook again, swathed in clothes of the softest degree. The green cotton of his sweater tickled just below his adam’s apple, and Alex nuzzled his red cheek into John’s collarbone a little more, humming with satisfaction. His hands were filled with a warm mug of apple cider, one of the few luxuries he allowed himself when he felt sick. The tepid, cinnamon flavor helped sooth his aching throat, clear his stuffed sinuses, and let him think a little more clearly. Alex situated a bit more, pulling the black shag blanket over his body as he shivered. John kept one hand in his still damp hair, running his fingers around in his scalp.

Alexander swore they had been like this for hours.

“ Psoriasis,” John began, licking his finger as he flipped the page. They were such quick and nimble fingers, Alex thought. They could write hundreds of essays and never even get tired, probably. When they were both freshman, Hamilton and John used to stay up until sunrise writing essays on the social standing of the country, but when John decided to pursue a medical degree, those wondrous nights had to stop, much to Alex’s dismay. “Named for the Greek word  _ psōra _ meaning "itch," psoriasis is a chronic, non-contagious disease characterized by inflamed lesions covered with silvery-white scabs of dead skin. Psoriasis, which affects at least four million Americans, is slightly more common in women than in men. Although the disease can develop at any time, ten to fifteen percent of all cases are diagnosed in children under ten, and the average age at the onset of symptoms is twenty-eight.”

After each definition, Alex gave John an encouraging kiss on the jawline. He was so cute, so intelligent, and Alex was  _ so _ lucky to be with him. He wished he had words to give him to explain that he would burn the entire world if he asked him. He wish he could explain to John that if he asked it of him, Alexander would lasso the moon, or slay a dragon, or find the lost ark. Even if it was deemed impossible by society, if John Laurens wished it, Alexander Hamilton would manage it. Always.

“Ciprofloxacin. a  quinolone antibacterial agent effective against many gram-positive and gram-negative bacteria, including some strains resistant to other agents such as penicillins.” John continued, and the sick man took a sip of his drink.

“John,” Hamilton tried speaking, and his voice was rough, like a car driving on gravel, but he really didn’t care. Though he stopped stuttering, every word was hell for him. His boyfriend stopped midsentence to look at him. There was an expression on his face that could mimic concern, eyebrows close together, green eyes searching Alex’s fevered brown.

“What’s wrong? Is it too hot? Are the candles upsetting your head?”

There was a soft smile on his face. “No, no, nothing like that. I was just wondering if I could write again. My fingers are starting to itch, and I’m becoming restless. Just one essay. Please? One essay and I’ll  let you feed me noodle soup.”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I know this probably isn’t any fun for you, but I’m still really worried for your health. It’s been three days since you collapsed at work, and your fever is still at 101.4. Whenever you take catnaps, I worry you’re going to stop breathing in your sleep. Writing just overstimulates you, babe. I don’t want you to be sick anymore. I want my healthy, obsessed, crazy Alexander back. So... Until your temperature is at a normal 98, no writing. No pen, no paper, no computer. I’m really sorry, baby.”

The hope on Alex’s face fell like Icarus fell from the sky. He jumped up, provoked by anger, and John followed suit.“This is so unfair! I haven’t contacted Washington! We’ve got meetings all this week because of a mock trial with Harvard in a month!”

John just shrugged, clearly unmoved. Even if Hamilton could sway continents and move the hearts of men towards something akin to revolution, he could not convince him that this was a remotely good idea. He saw past the ambitious twinkle in his eye, past the way he almost purred the soft syllables, past the ever so slight smile he had that was almost convincingly charming. “The answer is no, Alex. Don’t fight me on this. Jefferson and Burr, they have your materials, don’t they?”

“As if I’d trust that Goat-Fucker and that horribly indecisive idiot with my shit! Of course they don’t!” He was almost yelling now, and John knew it wasn’t helping his headache. “Washington won’t let me stay on the team if I don’t produce something!”

“You’ve produced enough.”

“Only the opening statement!”

“Which is five pages long, Alexander. The jury will fall asleep if you give the full report. Let the others handle it, alright? I promise Washington will be just fine without you.” This didn’t seem to ease the troubled writer’s mind, and he took to coughing and twiddling his thumbs. Between fits, John could hear the mucus that had built up rattle in his chest like dice. Even if Hamilton had managed to convince him, he doubted he’d make it down the flights of stairs without fainting. Despite sleeping most of the days he’d been home, Alexander still managed to have deep bags under his endless eyes, which troubled John to no end. He put his hands on Alex’s shoulders, giving him a soft half smile, weary of this inexhaustible argument. “Do you want to call him? Would that make you feel better?”

The other man looked away, pouting like a small toddler. “You letting me write would make me feel better. I hate being unproductive.”

“Don’t pull a face,” John chided, grabbing his phone. Alex’s was still in the bathroom; he hoped it would run out of battery soon. There were numerous messages from his work at the grocery store and law firm, and even  _ Washington _ had resorted to calling him. John would hate to hear what the voicemails said. Maybe Alex  _ was _ right. Maybe Washington had cut him from the team because of his lack of work done. John would feel terribly guilty if that happened, and he knew that that would be the one thing his boyfriend would never forgive him for. He handed Hamilton the phone after unlocking it. “It’s unbecoming. Here, call him.”

As Alexander dialed the number and held the phone up to his ear, he swayed a little, so John helped him back onto the couch. After a second or two, there was muffled talking on the other end. “Sir...” God, he sounded so  _ horrible. _ “Sorry... No, I’ve been sick. I haven’t had access to my phone or laptop because I just got home from the hospital yesterday, and John’s been making me sleep. Yes, sir. No, sir. With any luck I’ll be able to come to tomorrow’s meeting, but John won’t let me out of the house until my temperature is normal. Sure, I guess that’s reasonable. Yes, sir. Goodbye, sir.” Alex hung up.

“What’d he say?”

“For me to get on my computer and write up some evidence,” He lied easily, pushing his hands into the couch for a boost. John shoved him back down.

“Tell the truth. You and I both know that’s not what Washington told you. Now you’re going to lay here, and I’m going to nurse you back to health, so, chicken noodle or tomato?” Before the sick man could protest, John had already covered him up in the soft green blanket from before. His dark hair fanned out on the stained fabric of the couch, like ink waves spreading from that head of his, strands of words he couldn’t say.

“Neither,” His sable colored eyes gleamed of defiance, and when he gave someone those eyes, you backed away. However, John knew in his state Alex really couldn’t do anything to him. “I want to write.”

“Fine. So you’re going to be fucking stubborn?” The patient cord inside of John had snapped finally. How dare Alexander behave like this, like he was so entitled to  _ everything _ right that very moment. Maybe it was their fault - Lafayette’s, Hercules’, Eliza’s, John’s - Because they  _ knew _ what life had been like for Alex before America. They knew his hardships and his triggers. As a result, they had spoiled him for years, turning him from hardened immigrant to pampered prince. “That’s great. Because it’s not like I worried over you or anything. It’s not like I almost abandoned my post at the children’s ward when I heard you were in the  _ fucking ICU. _ It’s not like I want you to get better, because heaven forbid I shouldn’t have to play nurse all the damn time. Yeah, I don’t mind it, but  _ Jesus Christ, _ Alexander, enough is enough! I’m fucking done, okay? I love you, it breaks my heart to see you like this, but if you’re not willing to help yourself then I can’t help you.”

“John-” He’d started to sit up again, and this time the nurse didn’t bother to stop him. Let him stop halfway to cough out his lungs and voice box. John grabbed his medical dictionary he’d been reading and went to sit in the chair in the corner, tucking his legs behind him. “John, that’s not what I want.” He cracked open the volume to where his bookmark was.

No response.

“Don’t ignore me. Say something. Say... Say ‘Hello, Alexander.’ It’s simple and easy.”

No response.

“I don’t  _ want _ you to stop taking care of me. I never said I didn’t want you to. I just have things I need to do.”

Without looking up, John’s uncharacteristically cold voice issued from the pages. “Then do them, Alexander. Heaven forbid I should stop you.”

 

***

There were lots of differences between St. Croix and New York City.

In the Caribbean, everything was painted with fake, cultured smiles, brightly painted murals, and enticing spices to make one forget the true horror they lived in. The city tried to cover up barbarity with beauty. Here, they didn’t even  _ try _ to mask devastation and destruction. St. Croix often was built of small towns and strict values, poor people lived on the west and rich on the east. Hamilton lived somewhere in the middle, and he was never sure where he stood. The rich looked down upon him, and the poor could not accept him. Only paper and pen, unbiased and nonpartisan, kept him company all throughout his lonely childhood and teenage years.

In the Caribbean, it smelled of salted and cured pork, of grinded up spices and seawater. If Alexander loved anything about his hometown, it would be the scents that still carried with him today. No matter how many candles he bought or colognes he tried, Alex could never emulate the same aroma. The only way was to head back, and you couldn’t pay him a million dollars to do so. Here, in New York, it smelled of grease and pizza and sewage, like burning rubber. If Alexander got to close to a hospital, even a block away he could still smell the cleaners and death.

There were lots of differences between St. Croix and New York City, but death was not one of them.

Alexander Hamilton frequently surveyed the streets of this strange American city. He’d lived here for years, yet was hardly able to understand New York custom. Why did you have to yell at the taxi drivers in front of you? Why was everything so fast and oily? Everything was go, go, go for these people. Of course, he fit right in, writing non-stop. He ignored everyone, everything, every bit of food or water he came into contact with until his task was finished.

Maybe that was why John was mad at him...

All Alex knew was that the moment he heard the icy hiss come from his boyfriend, he had grabbed his computer, phone, and shoes before slamming the door on the way out. He hadn’t registered what he had done until he was four blocks away, heading to his college’s library, and he was too far away to turn back. Not like he wanted to. He didn’t want to be in a room with someone who didn’t nurture his passions even when he was ill. He didn’t want to be controlled and confined to a couch with nothing to do and no one new to talk to.

It wasn’t like John did that all the time. Most days, he let Alexander write to his heart's content. He let him stay up until ungodly hours of the morning and bit anyone’s head off who dare disturb him. John was very fair in that respect. If he hadn’t been, Alex would have deemed him a hypocrite a long while ago, and their friendship would not have blossomed. Their relationship would be a weed trying to survive in concrete. As it was, Hamilton felt as if they were still trying to poke through the solid material. They were both stubborn, unwilling to bend to the other.

Water splashed onto his shoes. Had it been raining? His socks were soaked through...

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” A shout, and a honk. It faded as the car drove away, and he remembered the pitch of sound changing as a direct result of the doppler effect. Alexander jumped back. The light hadn’t been green like he’d thought it was. He was pulled out of his mind, finding the library to be just two blocks away, in plain sight. Silently, he apologized to the person, pressing the button to cross.

Bells rang, signaling the hour from all around the stentorian and industrial city. It hurt his ears.

_ One. _

One time Alexander boarded a plane.

_ Two. _

Two times Alexander loved.

_ Three. _

Three times Alexander got into a life-threatening fight.

_ Four. _

Four times Alexander made friends. 

_ Five. _

Five times before, Alexander felt like this.

With every gong, he felt himself grow weaker, shiver more, and become filled to the brim with anxiety. The noises were too loud, his head turning from brilliant machine to a hammered sheet of metal. Constantly banging. Constantly banging. Constantly banging. Alexander winced as his eyes slid up to peak at the sun, and were it not for the wall of the library, the man would have toppled to the ground. As it was, sweat dripped down his face, yet he shivered as he pulled open the heavy glass door. He coughed and sneezed, feeling his throat close up.

“Well well well,” A sly, smooth, yet a bit higher frequency voice came from right in the middle of the room. Alex’s eyes skidded towards the source and found Jefferson, dressed in all of his rich, silkened glory, feet up on the wood table, looking up from his book. “Look who decided to show up.”

“Shut... Shut up...” He whimpered, trying to threaten him. Hamilton had lost all his energy the moment he stepped outside the apartment. He didn’t even have the energy to properly walk over and sit down, so he leaned on the door.

Thomas Jefferson always played the part of a rich boy whose ego had been fed since the moment he’d popped out of his mother’s diseased vagina. Alexander called it diseased because Jefferson  _ himself _  was the epitome of indisposition. He didn’t hate his mother, she was very nice. He hated the son she’d produced. His hair would have probably touched past his shoulders if not annoyingly puffed out constantly. It was like a fucking bird of paradise trying to procure a mate, and Hamilton wanted to burn it. His eyes were a cold mud color, cracked and filthy in all their endeavors. Hamilton wanted to smash them. Thomas Jefferson was dressed in a flashy purple suit today, the shirt crushed purple, the jacket threaded silk.

“You look under the weather, little Alex,” Jefferson got up, sauntered towards Hamilton. His phone buzzed in his pocket; Alex ignored it.

“You w-would be... too... if you both...bothered to look in the m-mirror.”

Naturally, Thomas frowned at that, while Alexander quietly smiled at his own comeback. Maybe he wasn’t as sick as he thought if his brain and mouth were full of wit. The ill man brushed past Jefferson, shoulders knocking together like ships on the sea. It set off some nausea in his stomach as he pulled out his chair and sat down.

“Where’s e...everyone e-else?” He inquired, getting the laptop out of the bag. It was cold, colder than it should be. Alex sneezed again, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

He saw Jefferson shrug. “Going to get books, get food, bathroom breaks. I don’t know, Hamilton. I don’t fucking babysit them. I don’t need to know where they are all the damn time like you do.”

 

***

Nighttime had spread across the grand vastness of the industrialised city, and Alexander had grown worse. His eyes drooped heavy sleep, his fingers had barely typed another five pages of evidence, and his posture slouched with weakness. Books were spread among the table, papers scattered like a hurricane had brushed in, and the rest of his cabinet members surrounded him. They’d been at it for hours, and Alexander never once got up to use the restroom or answer his phone. John had called ten times, Lafayette seven, Hercules four, and Angelica twice. There were a few texts from Eliza that he wished to respond to, but refrained. 

Anxiety had set in from the moment Hamilton had stepped foot in the library. He could feel it in his bones, vibrating his nerves. People glanced over at his sweating form, and any laughter he heard he presumed that it was towards him.

At one point, Washington stood up. He was tall and brooding, gaze like a hawk built of steel, nose hooked like a beak. Hamilton thought he looked like an eagle in this dim light, or maybe he had started to hallucinate. “Let’s call it a night. Jefferson, Burr, are we going emotional or logical for the closing statement?”

Burr cleared his throat, and after zipping up his bag, stood and spoke. “We believe with the track record Harvard has, that they’re going logical. Hamilton’s decidedly done a bit of both, so I think we’re reigning everything in with emotional.” Alex saw Washington give them an approving nod. He felt a pit grow in his stomach.

What if Washington never gave  _ him _ a nod like that? What if Washington never really even wanted him on this team in the first place? What if they just tolerated him? Was he too annoying? Why were they all looking at him like they were expecting him to say something? God, Alexander was only one man, how could he be expected to have all the answers all the damn time? Words only came so easily, and why couldn’t he breathe? Why was it so dark outside, was night usually this dark? Where were the stars? Where was John?

John.

Had John packed his things and left? Had John truly loved him in the first place? Was he faking their relationship? Could he actually stand Alex, or was it all just an act? What if Hamilton had never made him happy? Had he made him happy? Why was Washington running his cold hands down his arms? It was too cold, too hot. Alexander didn’t want anyone to touch him. Where was his mother? He wanted his mother. He wanted his-

“-Xander, it’s okay.” Washington’s quivering voice sounded from above Alex. When had he ended up on the floor? When had he started shaking and panting? “Alexander. Alexander, are you okay?”

“I-” Hamilton looked around, now feeling the panic soak him up like a sponge.

“All this because of a rainstorm?” Jefferson’s amused voice came from the right, the insult hitting Alex like a ton of bricks.

He was broken.

He was helpless.

He was in a hurricane again.

Quickly, desperately, like a wild animal, Alex scrabbled for his phone. He’d call John back. He’d call John back, and there would be the sweet taste of forgiveness, and then he could go home and sleep with John and be with John and hold John and John would make the panic go away.

John would make the panic go away.

John would make the panic go away.

John would make the panic go away, except John didn’t want him anymore.

There was a single text among the dozens of missed calls. A single text from the man he loved.

_ My John <3: Don’t bother coming home tonight. You didn’t take your keys and I locked the door.  I was going to try and apologize, but you’re being a complete and total ass, so don’t even text me. Goodbye, Alex. I’ll have Laf bring you your stuff. Good luck. _

Alexander started screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments, keep them coming! Sorry if this chapter wasn't that good, I added a cliffhanger at the end though, in the middle of one of Alex's attack, and the next chapter will be really drama heavy and feature mother!Lafayette.


	5. la panique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alexander may not survive the night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! here's another chapter that i pulled out of my ass. Lafayette is literally a sweet angel and he's so great please keep him safe and give him nice thoughts bc john and alex are being complete asshats rn. i'm not sure when i'll update next - school is ending soon, and i won't have a computer over summer, but i'll try and get another one out this weekend.
> 
> edit: bolded words/sentences are in french, because i think it takes away from the story if you have to go translate on your own

“Yes, thank you. _Non,_ I understand.”

Lafayette sighed heavily as he pressed the red END CALL button on his phone, taking his sweet time to peer into the darkness of the Laurens-Hamilton kitchen he was so used to. There was the cheap stove, with its electric heating system and the shiny white metal that could never hide stains no matter how hard they scrubbed. There was the fridge, covered in bills to pay and lists of things to buy. He knew that there wasn’t much inside there, maybe a pasta dish or two, maybe spoiled milk and condiments. Even with Alex’s ten percent discount at the store, they rarely had enough food to sustain themselves. But it wasn’t like they ate a lot here anyways. Lafayette knew John mostly survived off of hospital food and snacks from the various vending machines at the universities. Alex didn’t eat anyways, only at their ushering.  There was the island where they ate their meals, covered in discolored tiles, because the original owners couldn’t decide which one they liked.

Everything in this kitchen Lafayette had used a million times before. He knew the best settings on the microwave, he knew where to find silverware and glasses and plates, where to get napkins and tupperware. This was not a foreign room to him, yet it seemed like it was. As long as his Alexander and his Laurens were separated, this was a divided house. He came because John had asked him to, but if Lafayette was to be completely honest -- which he wasn’t, most of the time. He kept his feelings hidden because he didn’t want to upset his friends -- he felt uncomfortable. He was a man, not an owl.

“Laf,” John’s voice called from the other room, and he perked up from his trance of memory. It felt like he was dancing with ghosts of the past. “Who was that?”

There was where Alexander flung spaghetti sauce at John for making fun of his height. The wall was still stained marinara red.  “Uh... Washington.”

“Oh.” He sounded displeased. Naturally, John disliked Washington for a couple of reasons. One, he never stopped Lafayette from being abused (though, really, what could anyone do?), two, he always kept Alex up late at night, and, three, he generally lacked human emotions. Lafayette couldn’t blame him, but the constant complaining got a bit bothersome.

“Would you like to know what he said?” Lafayette looked the the island again. That was where John stitched him up after a pretty bad run-in with his mother, and he was too ashamed and too poor to go to the hospital. Alexander held his hand and soothed him with his words.

“Does it have to do with Alex?”

That was the corner where Lafayette had a breakdown. John and Alex were by his side in an instant. “ _Oui._ ”  

He looked at his hands, purple and yellow with bruises. “Then no.” Came the reply. Because there wasn’t anything else for John to say. He was horribly predictable. Lafayette somewhat stumbled into the living room. John had been there since the early afternoon, just reading his medical textbook, and even from far away you could see the tears he’d made turning the pages in frustration.

“Please?” Lafayette begged. This wasn’t like them. Silence was not a thing that John and Alexander did. When they were mad, they blew up like grenades on a battlefield. They did not stay silent. They did not let the other have a panic attack at the library. They did not let the other boil and stew in his own wrath and ire. It scared him, more than the emergency room.

He saw John shake his head, lick his lips, turn the page. “Codeine, a crystalline alkaloid, morphine methyl ether that is used as an analgesic and antitussive. It is a controlled substance.”

“Don’t ignore me.” That was the coffee table where the three of them, plus Hercules and the Schyler sisters, played cards until three in the morning. That was the coffee table that now held all of Alex’s belongings.

“Don’t bring up Alexander and I won’t have to.”

“He’s having an anxiety attack.”

“That’s nice. Good for him.”

Lafayette clenched his fists, grit his teeth, looked away and closed his eyes tightly for a moment before relaxing. “Don’t say that. I know you don’t mean that. I know you’re worried. I know you love him and miss him and want him to come home.”

“I don’t, actually. He had his chance to apologize. I was ready to listen, but he never returned my calls-”

“You’re despicable.”

That caught the soon-to-be-doctor’s attention. For the first time in hours, John set his thick book down. He stared at Lafayette, his green eyes grown cold with the harshness of the mines they’d been born from. During the night, when the beatings seemed impossibly endless and Lafayette could not escape his body, he just remembered John’s eyes, how they shined and sparkled even in the bleakest of situations. The difference here was so stark he shuddered, yet held his ground. It had already come out of his mouth, there was no point in denying his opinion any longer.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean it. I really do, John. You’re despicable. You’re acting like a goddamn child, and why? Because Alexander wanted to do his job? What were _you_ doing the last time you were ill? That’s right, studying, because you had a test in a week and couldn’t afford to be sick. That’s what he’s doing, you know. Those essays are his grade, it’s what keeps him going. Now he’s at Washington’s, practically alone and afraid, because you may be wrong about a lot of things Washington does, but you’re not wrong about his empathy. He’s got none, and Lord knows he can’t sympathize with Alexander, or calm him down. He doesn’t have his anti-anxiety meds with him. He doesn’t have you or I, and yet you have the gall to say you don’t give a shit about him?”

John opened his mouth to retaliate, and Lafayette could see a bit of Alexander in the way his eyes lit up like emerald coals, and in the way his jaw set, like he was wracking his brain for a million different reasons why he was right.

“Shut up. I’m not done. I’m not on your side. But I’m not on Alexander’s either. He’s making this harder than it has to be, and you’re right, he should stay covered up and medicated and watched over, but this is not how he works. Alexander is a reckless endangerment to himself, and you’ve every right to be mad at him. I am too. Yes, he shouldn’t have left, yes, he should have returned our calls, but you shouldn’t text him saying you’re no longer together.”

“But we’re not, Laf. Do you know how many times he’s done this? How many times I’ve had to worry about his stupid ass running a fever while downtown? Do you know how many times I’ve had to grab and Uber and find him before he got jumped on? Do you know how many times I’ve woken up just to make sure he’s still in bed with me, alive and breathing? Why should I be with a man who can’t bother to settle down and think about us, just for a second? I’m not going to bullshit him. I mean it. We’re through.”

“Don’t say that.” Lafayette’s voice was soft and broken, like he’d been wounded through the heart. How could his two best friends, the two people who loved unconditionally with all their hearts, with every fibre of their being, hate each other? Well, maybe not hate... But dislike to the point of breaking up. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“Alexander is suffering.”

“I am, too.”

“Not in the way that he is. I’m not denying your feelings, John, but you never had the problems he had. You never had those insecurities. You know where you stand in the world. Alexander... Alexander is an enigma to most, a puzzle to others. They don’t know how to react towards him. He’s suffering in his own mind, drowning in his thoughts. He needs help. So...” Lafayette sighed, leaning down and kissing John’s cheek. He lingered there for a good moment before pulling away. “I love you dearly with all my heart, _petite tortue_ , but Alexander needs me more right now. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

***

The wood felt raspy under Lafayette’s knuckles as he knocked on George Washington’s door. He’d done this multiple times, many years before, yet this time seemed different. It _was_ different, because they had drifted apart when they’d gone their separate ways. George was a very stoic man of high propriety, and though he fought for what was right, he did not do so recklessly. He was never a very good commander, having lost men back overseas, but he’d sprung back quickly. Lafayette’s middle name was rash. He was very much a get-up-and-go type of person. They had loved each other, but it never worked out. George could never come to terms that he loved a boy, and Lafayette was never a person to force his love upon another who did not reciprocate fully.

Thunder boomed in the sky, the shadow of the clouds green and angry. It was pouring, and his shoes were soaked despite being under an over-branching roof. If the storm continued like this, all of New York City might be out of power. As it was, Lafayette was sure Alexander was not of his own mind. He knew his friend. He shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder as Washington opened the door. He looked worn and weary, like a new mother who couldn’t get her inconsolable child to quiet down. Circles covered his dark eyes. Inside the darkness, Lafayette heard a muffled scream as lightning flashed. With just a small apologetic smile towards Washington’s way, Lafayette squeezed past him.

Alexander Hamilton was a burning star of biblical proportions. Sweat rolled down his arched back, over the pores in his skin, threaded in his thick, black hair. His eyes were supernovas, ignited by anxiety, blazing into rolled back whiteness, cracks of red pulsating. His screams were the sounds of planets being crushed and destroyed, of millenniums of decades of history being demolished. Lafayette knelt beside him, grabbing his hand tightly. He had been set on the couch in the living room, the curtains of the tall, narrow windows uncovered.

“Hold on, **my star** , my Alexander.” He rushed up and shut the curtains, making the room even darker. He went back to Alex, back to holding his hands. “Shh, shh, Alex, **my beautiful star.** It’s okay, it will be okay. Can you hear me? **Can you hear me? It’s your Lafayette. I am here, my star, my little one, and I will not leave.** ” His question was responded with by screams. Lafayette unzipped the duffel bag, wiping his misty eyes. _You can’t cry. You have to take care of Alexander. Stop shaking. You can’t cry. Get the pills, you’re fine. You can’t cry._

“No! N-no!” These were the first words Hamilton had uttered in hours, his voice was that of a squawk. “D-Don’t p-put me back there! Don...Don’t! Please! I b-beg of you!”

“Shh, shh. No one will put you back. You’re safe, Alexander, you’re safe.” He covered Alex’s mouth with his hand, putting just enough pressure to keep it there until the pills were in his mouth. “Swallow, come on. Come on, baby. **I love you, my Alexander, I am so sorry this happened to you. My star... I should have come sooner.** ”

“Marie,” A strong voice issued from behind him. It had to be Washington, because no one else was allowed to call Lafayette by any other name. Gender was a strange word to him; Lafayette wasn’t sure where he stood with it. “Is he...” His words seemed to be clipped.

The frenchman shook his head, pulling his hand away once he saw Alexander take the pills. Only twenty minutes and he would relax. Twenty minutes, and the panic and paranoia would be over. Twenty minutes seemed like an eternity. “Going to be okay? George... Alexander will _never_ be okay. The illness that plagues him is manageable at best. I mean, there are cases of people getting over major anxiety-”

“How do we know Hamilton isn’t one of those people?”

“Because he just isn’t. If he was, he’d slowly be getting better, less paranoid, and he wouldn’t overthink everything like he does. His therapist-”

“He has a therapist?”

Hamilton was very secretive about his past, his present, and where he wanted to go with his future. He loved to talk, talk on and on for endless hours until his voice burned out, but never about himself. Not even John knew his entire life before America, and Washington, it seemed, knew even less than Lafayette did. “ _Oui._ But don’t tell him you know. He didn’t tell you for a reason, keep it that way. His therapist is working with him, but so far there hasn’t been much progress.”

When Alex screamed, Lafayette smoothed down his wild hair with shaking hands, shushing him with a wavering voice. George stepped closer. “How... How are the beatings?”

Lafayette shrugged, using the same words he’d used for Alex. “The beatings that plague me are manageable at best.” He kept his eyes trained on Alex, watching the crazed pupils zip around.

“Mom... M-mother, I... P-please...” He paused to cough, and Lafayette didn’t know how bad he’d gotten since the library, but the rattle in his chest was like a freight train running down the tracks. “Where... W-Where are you? I ne...n-need y-you... Everyone... Everyone... E-Everyone has left.”

That just made him grip Alex’s hand tighter, kissing his knuckles. He was too hot. Much too hot. This wasn’t normal, and in his delirious, pain-stricken state, there was no way any of them were going to the hospital. “ _Non,_ Alexander. **We have not left you, my beautiful star. We’re right here. Do you not see us? Washington and I... We’re going to take care of you.** ”

Washington and I.

Lafayette had not said that sentence in years, not since they left the bar. It felt nice to say it, a familiar friend amidst ghosts. With a pleading look in his eyes, he conveyed to George what he needed from him. Slowly, the man rose. “I’ll draw a cold bath for him. Do you want some tea?  I think I have some chamomile and rose. The kind that you like.” 

***

The violent storm, thank the heavens, had stopped just around three in the morning. Despite it being a relatively warm night, a fire blazed in the hearth, and the trio of men were gathered around it. Alexander had just managed to drift off minutes before, but Lafayette kept running his knuckles lightly across his scalp, sometimes kissing his forehead. The bath had done little to bring down his temperature and delirium, and he knew the best bet was the hospital, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that to Alex. The anxiety had passed from the writer to the frenchman, like a parasitic monster that preyed on victim after victim.

Lafayette did not expect comfort from George.

“Marie... Are you doing something about your mother?” Washington asked, sliding the cup of tea over. His damp sleeves were rolled up past his elbows; Alexander sure did put up a fight.

“What is there to be done?”

“Well I... I suppose a great deal. Have you found a place of your own? Surely moving out would start to solve the problem.”  When Alexander whimpered, Lafayette kissed his head, let his lips linger there, sent out a silent prayer to God.

**“Alexander may not survive the night.”**

“Then we’ll take him to the hospital. I can call an Uber. It’ll be okay-”

Lafayette pushed away the offer with a swipe of his hand and a shake of his head. “He doesn’t do hospitals. Besides, none of us can afford the extra bills right now. He’s been there already this week, and being there again when he woke up wouldn’t help his anxiety. _Non,_ I think it’s better if we look after him here. John and I have done it before, you and I can manage it.”

The tea ran down his aching throat. He’d talked too much, now he was paying the price. It tasted like rose petals and sleep, a splash of cream to top it all off. “You’re avoiding the subject, aren’t you, Marie?” George pondered, and Lafayette licked his lips.

There wasn’t any denying it anymore. “She says if I leave I’ll never see Adrienne again, or my unborn child. I’m still in college, George, and even if I don't regret getting her pregnant, that was still a stupid move.”

“You're… you're going to be a father?”

Lafayette stroked Alex’s hair, humming a little, swaying side to side. No one in his friend group knew, but George was different. George had been there since high school, he'd taken him in during those nights when the beatings got too bad and he needed to get away for a day or two. George had always been there in his own way. He had a right to know. _“Oui._ A baby girl, we hope. Adrienne is already glowing. She is beautiful all the time, of course, but pregnancy suits her.”

“You'll be a great father, Marie. You're great with Hamilton.”

That brought a ghost of a smile to his slightly panicked face. “ _Merci_ , George, but my Alexander is a special case. But that is why, essentially, I'm not moving out. I will not be absent in my future wife and child's life. I refuse to be.” Washington stared at the fire for a while, hand stroking his chin, deep in thought. When they’d been dating, the two of them would often spend their nights like this, curled up in each other’s arms by the fire, just thinking. At the time, it was the one thing in Lafayette’s life that was truly solid.

“You should move in with me.”

The statement almost had the frenchman spitting out his tea. As it was, he choked trying to swallow it, and he prayed to God that his coughs wouldn’t stir Alex. “ **Ex...Excuse me?** Did I just hear you right? **Move in with you?** ”

“Yes. Think about it. It wouldn’t raise any suspicions, because your mother and grandmother already like me, and you could still keep up the facade of a male without restraints of actually being one. The beatings would stop. I just want you to be safe, Marie. That’s all I ever wanted. You’re my best friend, and I know I can’t really show my feelings very well, but-”

Lafayette pressed their lips together. It wasn’t a thirsty, needy, fiery kiss filled with adrenaline and heat. This wasn’t a passion that consumed the two men.  It was a raindrop on a grass blade. It was how the earth smelled after a thunderstorm, like you knew you were alive enough to do something heroic. It was just Lafayette and Washington, in whatever fucked up relationship they had.

Washington and I.

Maybe that sentence could be a regular occurring one again. Maybe Lafayette could rebuild their shed of a friendship into a glorious mansion once more. He pulled away, a light blush on his cheeks. **“You still think of me dearly.”**

**“Of course. Who wouldn’t?”**

**“You still remember French!”**

**“Of course. Who wouldn’t?”**

***

_My dearest Laurens,_

_It is your Alexander._

That was how all their letters began.

_It is the sixteenth day that I haven’t seen your bright face. I must say, I do miss it.  I miss the way that the skin above your eyebrow crinkles when you’re concentrating. I love the way you smile at me. I wonder, do you miss mine? I figure that you must, for you keep asking me for a picture. Is the wifi really that slow that you cannot access twitter? Speaking of the internet... I know that writing old-fashioned letters takes longer to do, and we’ve no real way of knowing when, or even_ if  _the mail arrives, but I love it so. I love that  this a private recollection between you and I, John. I love that no matter how many we write, they cannot be deleted by lack of storage space.  I love seeing the way you swoop your J’s when you sign the bottom. I love that when you write ‘Alexander Hamilton’, you use hearts for the I’s. Truly, John, you are a teenage girl._

_How is medical school, my love? Is the food to your liking? Are you warm enough? You get so cold during the nights.  I fret about you every night. Hercules has the pleasure of watching me pace the room every night, mumbling like a madman. I do it for you. I worry.  I love you.  I am a love struck fool, John Laurens, and we both know I do not do sentiment. What have you changed about me?_

_My heart is no longer ice.  I must thank you and curse you for that._

_I hope to see you soon,_

_Alexander._

That was how all their letters ended.

John threw it into the rubbish bin just outside their apartment, along with other memorabilia from the months they’d been together. Maybe he would regret it later, maybe he wouldn’t. It was hard to tell.

***

The world spun as he moved his eyes, keeping them closed,  and almost instantly the nausea started. It felt as if his body was on fire, yet he was in the middle of a very cold ice bath. Horses had danced on his chest, and it hurt to breathe in and out. Did he have to? Did he have to suck in hot, stuffy air? If he remembered right, if he didn’t breathe, he could see his mother again. It was a win-win situation.

Alexander missed his mother more than he missed anything else. He missed the way she’d make hot chocolate, old-fashioned, over the stove with milk, and adding cinnamon and spices. They rarely ever got it, because in those days money was hard to come by and even with everyone working, they could barely afford dinner that week. He missed the way she read him stories by candlelight because sometimes they forgot to pay the electric bill. He missed the way she kissed him all over and didn’t stop until he smiled and laughed when he fell and scraped his knee. He missed the way she gave him haircuts at home to save money.

There were lots of bastards on St. Croix. Prostitution was a booming business in the virgin islands, and some women went in as young as sixteen. Rachel Faucette was a redhead beauty, blue eyes adorning her face like the caribbean sea itself. If only _he’d_ inherited her looks, maybe life would have been easier, but who was to say? His mother lived a hard, grueling life, and only in death was she released. But before that, she’d granted Alexander life in this world. She granted him, essentially, the same life she lived. Except Alexander Hamilton was not for back-breaking labor and minimum wage jobs. He was not meant to live a life in poverty.

Except that’s exactly what he was doing. Working two jobs, going to school full time... Barely scraping by... This was not the life he had envisioned for himself.

“Alexander,” A sweet, melodic voice called out. He’d hadn’t heard it in years, not since he was a young child.

_“Mom.”_ And suddenly there she was, floating in the darkness like the angel that she was. In life, her hair had been faded by years in the sun, streaked with grey after thirty, and bound in tameless curls from childbirth. Her hair had been ratty, because her two sons had both been non-stop. Here, though... Here she looked radiant, every bit the goddess Alexander knew she had been. Her blue eyes did not hold any malady or shame, no bags embellished underneath the sapphires. In death, upon the dusk and enveloped in shadows, Rachel Faucette was a beacon of light. Alex did not know if he looked anything like  her now, if his own bags had disappeared, or if his hair, greasy to the point where he didn’t need hair gel, was sleek and shiny. He felt dirty compared to her.

“Alex, my sweet, sweet boy.” She held out her arms, stepping towards him, and he let himself fall into her. She smelled of sea salt and sweat, of spice and lavender. “You’re so brave. You’ve been so brave, and good. You can let go, sweetheart. You can finally relax.”

The prospect of being with his mother again was certainly inviting. Alex could imagine it: how she’d make home cooked meals again, the kind that he could never recreate. He  could imagine helping her clean the house, getting the books that she couldn’t reach. He could imagine buying her lavish gifts for mother’s day again, not the stick cross he gave her when he was eight. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. After all,with his mother, Alexander would stop hurting. If he stopped breathing... there would be eternal bliss. But just as he started to nod off, cease taking in air, another voice came to him. He knew this voice as well, but his memories... they wouldn’t come to him. This voice was from the earth, not from the heavens. Alex was stuck somewhere in between.

“No, no. Please don’t leave us. Everyone still needs you. I know you don’t like hospitals... We’re trying. I swear we’re trying our best. Alexander... You have to hang on. Please hang on. Your breathing is so shallow... Can you even hear me? I’ll talk for hours just to get you back here. You’re the only person I can truly trust in this world. Open your eyes. Can you even do that simple request? If need be, I will move mountains to make you well again. If you wanted, I would lasso the moon for you just to see your devious smile. If you leave, we will all become undone. There is not a person that has met you that is not instantly affected.

  
“Your charm, Alexander... Your charm is what drew you to me. Without your charm I am lost - no, this _world_ is lost. Without your smile, how are we  to know happiness? Without your eyes, how are we to know passion? When I first met you, I thought that you were the most magnificent creature that God had ever created. I thought that I would die when I looked at you, because you are radiant. Without you, Alexander, how are we to know life?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please keep commenting, what do you wanna see?


	6. le abysse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alex,” His mother’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned to her, flashing her a smile to let her know she had his full attention. “You really should come back with me.”
> 
> All their conversations, in the end, came back to this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long requested, here is the next installment! Enjoy!

Lafayette winced every time he heard Washington’s rough voice issue from the kitchen. He’d been on the phone with Thomas for hours now, and the amicable style of wording they had once used towards each other had dissolved like sugar in water. He stayed crouched by Hamilton’s side, brushing back his sweaty hair, holding a loose, pale hand. It had been two days, and there still hadn’t been a change to the man on the couch. Sometimes, his eyelids would flutter open halfway, but he could not recognize either of the men. He wondered if the sick man even knew the time of day anymore. He wondered if he was ever going to wake up, or if this damned raging fever would overtake him. Lafayette seriously wondered if he’d ever get to see those magnificent brown eyes light up again. 

“Jefferson,  _ I don’t care _ that you hate Hamilton. He’s sick. Either go with what we’re doing or I’ll kick you off the team.” Silence. Lafayette could see the shadow of the man shift. He probably was pinching his nose. That was what George did under pressure, pinch his nose, screw up his face, bite his lip. The man was always angry; a dormant volcano waiting to burst, but he kept the smoke and ash inside of him. “No, no. You’re not understanding me. This is his  _ last shot. _ Do you not get it? How do you not get it? We’re not letting Hamilton’s possibly last debate go down the drain just because of a hunch you and Madison have. No. I don’t care that he had an affair when he was dating Eliza Schuyler back in high school. This is college, you soggy lampshade, none of those things matter. Fine! Then resign! You can both leave!” An angry slam of the phone.

“Soggy lampshade?” Lafayette questioned as Washington took a seat beside him. In the few seconds he took his eyes from Alexander to gaze at his friend, the sick man moaned in pain, crying out for his mother. “Shh, shh,  **my Alexander. It’ll be okay.** ” George blinked, rubbing his eyes.

“To be honest, I’ve no idea where that came from. Seemed right at the time. I swear, sometimes that man infuriates me.”

“Everyone infuriates everyone, George. Don’t blame Thomas for your temperamental anger.”

Alex mumbled in his sleep, something slurred and unintelligible, moving his head back and forth. He seemed to have grown paler by the second, and Lafayette found it hard to swallow. Anxiety had crawled from Alexander to the frenchman, an itchy bug that forever needed a host. There was nothing anyone could say or do that would have him leave his dear friend’s side. Lafayette, for all of his disastrous faults, had always stayed loyal to those he cared about. There was nothing worse than having somebody you love turn against you like a traitor. That’s what happened to him, and Lafayette would kill himself before betray his friends.

“You need to sleep. You have class tomorrow, don’t you? You need to be well rested.”

Those were the words he’d spoken to John at the hospital.

“I don’t need sleep. I need Alexander. I need to keep watch over Alexander.  **_I need Alexander._ ** ”

Those were the words John had spoken to him.

“Marie, you look half dead. I can do that. What do you require of me?” Lafayette felt George place a hand on his shoulder, and for a moment he shuddered, but then relaxed. His body was tense, steel ropes keeping up a two million ton bridge. He didn't know how he did it, most of the time. Others would have snapped under the pressure of trying to keep their friends together, let alone  _ alive _ . Others would have crumbled under the weight of his abuse. So why wasn't he?  why was Lafayette still standing, tall and strong, hardly ever feeling the effects of the hardships he’d endured.

He leaned into Washington slightly, but still kept his eyes on Alexander. He felt as if he looked away then his friend would allow death to take him. “Nothing... Well, ah... I don’t know. I guess I could use a shower. I just... What if he, you... you know...”

“Alex won’t die. He’s stronger than you think, Marie, you must give him time. Go take a shower, I’ll stay with Alex, okay?”

Lafayette swallowed again, finding his throat to constrict a little less at the comfort of his friend’s words. He peeled himself from Washington. “Okay,” He replied, and almost drunkenly found his way down the hall, towards the bathroom.

***

The world seemed duller, greyer, without Alexander Hamilton in John’s life. It was like the boy was the sunny Caribbean himself, John the cold New York City landscape. Together they were just the right degree of warmth and light. With Alexander’s ambition and John’s tendency to be a little too reckless most of the time, certainly they had been a recipe for disaster. It just took John seven months to finally figure that out. Not all love was gentle. Sometimes it was gritty, and dirty, and possessive. Sometimes it was not supposed to be careful, or soft at all. Sometimes, it felt like teeth.

Alexander had been all teeth. John had been all bite. Together, they were cruelty itself.

Still, there could be something said for the way the lonely man walked down the street now, like he knew he made a mistake. John knew it. He knew he shouldn’t have yelled at him, texted him that the door was locked. It wasn’t. John would never lock Alex out, and especially not in a triggering thunderstorm. Besides, the soon-to-be-lawyer paid more than half the rent. It would be unfair to make him homeless. His feet scraped along the pavement, sordid gravel getting stuck between his toes. The storm two days ago still left it’s mark. Puddles still had not yet evaporated. Sometimes John could still see a worm, pink and wriggling. Mud was more common than not, and only being in flip-flops didn’t really protect him. Every step hurt.

Every breath hurt.

It was like Alexander was fresh air, and when he wasn’t around, John was eternally trapped in a bubble of smog and carbon dioxide. His phone buzzed. He picked it up, glanced at the lockscreen.

_ Hercules:  Are you okay? I just went by your apt.  Neither you or Alex are there. Mrs. Gonzolas says she hasn’t heard you guys all night. What’s up?  _

_ John:  Alex isn’t home. He’s at Washington’s, apparently.  _

_ Hercules:  Okay? And where are you?? _

That was a very good question. After his Sociology class, he kind of just wandered around aimlessly with no place in mind. First, he’d been guided by the scent of the middle eastern falafels Alex sometimes had bought for him. They were moderately priced, you got you what you paid for, but it was still a special occasion when John had woken up from his five p.m. nap to Alex holding a take-out container of falafels. The last time they had it was thanksgiving, because Alexander’s entire family had either gone and died or abandoned him, and they decided taking a cab down to Georgia was not practical, and the four hundred dollars they needed for airfare wasn’t in their pockets. It had been okay, though, because they watched shitty holiday movies and made out, and their feast was those falafels and jerk chicken that Alex made.

John wondered why they still couldn’t return to that happy couple. He knew the answer, though. They were both mentally ill, stubborn, and too proud to admit defeat. Alex wouldn’t take care of himself, and John never understood his stupid thought process. With a quick glance at the street signs, he texted Hercules back.

_ John:  72nd and Adams. _

_ Hercules: You hungry?  _

_ John:  I don’t have the money to be hungry.  _

_ Hercules: Nonsense. Meet me by the falafel place you like. I’m buying :)  _

***

**_How the fuck is George able to have such a big bathroom?_** Lafayette looked around in awe, mouth agape, as he dried up with the navy blue towel that hung on the rack. **_The fuck did he have to kill? He’s like... twenty-seven. This shouldn’t be possible._**

The ceiling was high up, painted black, chandelier hanging down like some french ballroom. It somewhat mimicked the ones he’d seen at Versailles, light bulbs instead of candles, cloaked in silver instead of gold. It gave off a soft yellow glow, like the streetlamps outside. The walls were a tiled ebony  around the porcelain clawfoot bathtub, painted a shining enamel white. The water had been hot. Steam had curled up into his ratted hair, and Lafayette had opted for a bath instead of a shower. There’d been oatmeal soap, coated in chunks of cinnamon and colored a lavender. He remembered, back when they were dating, that they had the cheap Dove brand. Lafayette remembered how it crumbled and slipped between his fingers. This brand was strong, sturdy. Everything that they hadn’t been. He slipped on his old college sweatshirt, the one that said CORNELL UNIVERSITY in faded red and white. It smelled like concentrated, musty cologne and wood. Lafayette wondered how long George had kept this in his dresser.

After slipping on his boxers, the frenchman padded down the hall, hugging his arms tight around him as his body got used to the cold. It was cold in New York City, but Lafayette had long since grown accustomed to it, having lived in France until his mid-teens. America meant everything to him, yet his heart belonged to his homeland. In France, he understood all the jokes, the culture, the language. He never felt like an outsider. He knew where he stood with everyone. Here, in America, even though he’d lived here for over a decade, there were still things he didn’t understand.

True to his word, Washington was still by Alexander’s side. Nothing had really changed, except there was a thermometer in his mouth, and when it beeped, George took it out and looked at it.

**“How is he?”** Lafayette wondered, running a hand through his knotted curls as he knelt down beside the men. When he tugged, it hurt.

“It’s at one hundred, thank god, but he’s had a fever for five days. I’m not a doctor, but even  _ I  _  know that’s not safe or healthy. I think he needs to go to the hospital again.”

“They can’t pay for it. Alexander hates hospitals.”

“As much as I enjoy both of your company, I do not particularly wish to entertain the thought of a young man expiring on my couch. If it’s money they worry about, I can help.”

“John and Alexander don’t accept money from anyone. It doesn’t really matter who it’s from or for what reason.”

“It’s like you don’t  _ want _ him to get better, Marie.” The accusation in Washington’s voice could not be denied, and on better days, Lafayette would probably just leave it, let the anger wash over him like a wave, cool into a slight smile and a head bow. But this was Alexander they were talking about, the brightest mind of their age. No one could compare, and with him sick like this, Lafayette wasn’t sure how they were going to maintain anything anyone had built.

He shook his head. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that, George, because Alexander’s good health is the  _ only _ thing I want in this world. I don’t want money. I don’t want my job. I want him to be healthy. The hospital, however, isn’t an option. I know it’s not, and in this state it’s not wise to move him drastically.”

Lafayette saw George open his mouth to say something, but he closed it again when he realized the topic wasn’t open for discussion. The frenchman lifted up Alex’s head so he could sit on the couch with the sick man’s head in his lap. He brushed through the sweaty strands of hair, noting that he  _ was _ a lot cooler. Maybe,  _ finally _ , after all that had happened, the fever was starting to break. Having a fever for five days... Lafayette wasn’t sure if that happened a lot. Maybe it did with Alexander. Maybe this was just a normal occurrence for him, and in an hour or two he’d wake up and demand to go to work again.

Maybe Lafayette had a bit of hope left in him, after all.

***

The low riding sun streamed through the open glass windows of the tiny restaurant, dyeing everything a burnt orange. When John looked through his pint of Sam Adams, Hercules was tinted the color of a burnt dandelion, his built body shape morphed by the curvature of the glass. John sat back up, starting to drain the alcohol.

It always smelled nice here, and were it not for the trains rushing overhead, making the building shake like it was caught in an earthquake, John knew it would be a much busier place. As it was, this was dinner hour, yet only he, Mulligan, and a small party of four occupied the diner. Though not appeasing to the eye, the walls of the restaurant had a homey feel to them, like you belonged. The owners decided to cover up the white and green tile combo with pictures of their family and the regulars that came in. There was one of the entire family. Mother, father, two sisters, one brother, dressed nicely in suits and skirts as one boy held a plaque congratulating him on winning a piano competition. Another showed the other brother, hair sticking up and goggles covering his eyes, pointing proudly at his currently erupting baking soda volcano. Additionally, there was one with the daughter, dressed in a very formal outfit, wearing a hijab, delightfully  showing her high school diploma and smiling. They really were a nice family. John knew the mother and father personally.

“Yo, are you even listening to me?” Hercules interrupted  John’s train of thought by tapping on his skull gently. “Earth to John!”

John cleared his throat. “Uh... yeah, sorry. I wasn’t, really. Kind of lost in my own mind, I guess.”

Hercules stared at him for a second. “My god. You’re worse than Alex. Anyways, are you gonna eat those?” He indicated towards the long since cold falafels. John had only eaten two before feeling like he was going to throw up. He knew he wasn’t sick, but after everything that happened with Alex, the anger and guilt that he felt... He’d lost his appetite. He shoved the basket towards his friend.

“No, you can have them. I’m not very hungry anyways.”

“What’s the matter?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Don’t gimmie that bullshit, John Laurens.” Hercules leaned closer to John. John could smell the scent of the fashion room, like metal and steam cleaning, but then something distinctly Hercules Mulligan: lake water. Growing up on a bog had that effect on you. John heard once from him that  _ everyone _ in Ireland smelled like potatoes and lake water. He wasn’t sure how true that was. Maybe it was a joke.

He pulled his drink closer. “I’m not giving you bullshit.”

“What’s up with you and Alex?”

“Nothing. We’re fine, Herc.”

“Then if you’re fine, I’ll take you to Washington’s. I can get the address from Laf. If you two are fine, you should go be with him when he’s sick like this.”

John shook his head. “No. I have a lot of work to do. Alex understands. He doesn’t want me coming around when there’s so much to study for, so many projects to do. Plus, finals week is coming up.”

“See, if you were fine, you wouldn’t be making excuses.” Hercules commented, popping a falafel  into his mouth and chewing. John just drank deeply from his beer, humming in satisfaction as he did so. They were all queerplatonic partners, Hercules, John, Alex, and Lafayette, though sometimes John liked to separate just him and Alex from the rest. Even if the four of them were open about their relationships, John didn’t know how ready he was for the world to know that he’d been a major dick and broken up with Alex in his time of need.

“We’re  _ fine, _ ” He grunted.

***

Tea with his mother had been nice.

They’d spent a day by the bright white light, chatting and catching up. It wasn’t really tea, actually. Alex hated tea, even with sugar and milk, so he opted for plain black coffee. It was hot, and the steam that flew in his face heated him up. He watched his mother sip her drink, laugh about the stupid things she did as a teenager that she never told him. He’d now heard the story of how she went joyriding at ten o’clock on a Tuesday night with her friends and crashed her car. He heard the story of the time where she got drunk the night before her college interview and threw up all over the dean, so she wasn’t accepted. That was okay, she said. It wasn’t like she had the money or the time to get a nursing degree when there were two babies at home.

Alexander told her about the time when he was sixteen, sitting in the foyer of the foster home in Nevis, and how a man in a suit came to say ‘Congratulations, son. You’re going to America.’ He told her about meeting Hercules, his first friend, and how they went to the nearby park at two in the morning on the weekends and chain smoked. He told her about Lafayette, how he came from France nearly fluent, yet acquired Alexander after school one day and demanded help to learn more, to improve. He told her about Burr, his former roommate, whom he hated, yet wanted to open a law firm with. She said Hamilton & Burr had a nice ring to it.

The last story Alex saved was John’s story.

Lafayette and Hercules had dragged him, unwillingly, to the ice rink near Christmas. It was winter break, Alex still had a ton to do, yet his friends were not about to let him suffer another day in that stuffy dorm room. They bought him a ticket, strapped skates onto his already numb feet, and pushed him out onto the ice.

There was only one problem.

Alexander Hamilton did not know how to skate.

Apparently, though, there was an instructor named John keeping an eye on things, helping the little kids back up when they had fallen, getting little walkers to help them learn. Hercules swore they hadn’t meant to set him up, though he admitted he thought John was cute, and a source (Lafayette) told him he was single. Alex rolled his eyes, pulled himself along by the railing. This continued for a while as he watched Lafayette hang on Hercules like a drunk man, kissing his cheek and his neck as they lapped him.

“D’you need any help?” It was John. They were staring face to face.

Alex was pretty sure he’d gone bright red. “N-No! Yes... S-Shhh...”

The rest, as Lafayette says, is history.

He didn’t exactly know where they were, or how the coffee and tea appeared magically in their hands. Logically, Alexander knew this was just a stupid fever dream, yet there was a part of him - a significant part - that yearned for this to be real. He thought this could’ve been Nevis, because aside from the bright light, there were palm trees and the sound of ocean waves. However, there was a smell that was distinctly New York: grease and pizza dough, sewage and coffee, and he could pick up faint traces of Lafayette’s perfume and his soft voice.

“Alex,” His mother’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned to her, flashing her a smile to let her know she had his full attention. “You really should come back with me.”

All their conversations, in the end, came back to this one.

On the one hand, going with his mother meant an eternity with her. An eternity with his mother... that was tempting. He’d known heaven to be a very forgiving place, where everyone was cleansed of their sins of the mortal world. Alexander wondered what his mother was absolved for, what  _ he _ was going to be absolved for. He knew that if he went with her there would be no more pain or sorrow.

If he went with her, he’d leave John.

Even if John never wanted to see him again, even if John stopped hanging out with the group and completely moved on, Alex didn’t think he could leave him. After all, he knew John’s entire life. He knew how his father emotionally abused him, and sometimes he’d show up from break with bruises on his arms and cheeks, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as Lafayette’s. Alexander remembered those nights where John didn’t want to be held or touched, and he remembered those nights that he asked Alex to come to the roof with him and chain smoke, because that was what they  _ did. _ The four of them, when they founded their relationship, promised each other never to commit suicide, that they’d get help or do whatever they needed to do to survive. John chain smoked when he felt like putting a bullet in his mouth. Alexander remembered those nights where he had to hold John Laurens together, promising never to let him go.

So he wasn’t going to, even if that meant never being able to sleep in the same bed as him. Even if that meant they weren’t even going to be friends, Alex wasn’t going to let him go, wasn’t going to follow his mother.

“Mama... I love you, but I can’t. I have friends, Laurens, Mulligan, Marquis de Lafayette... they need me. I think they’d be very angry if I left them, and John and I had a very big fight that I wanna make up. I can’t go with you. This isn’t my time.”

A hand on his knee, a soft smile from his mother, and suddenly Alexander saw the years return to her face. There were crows feet around her eyes, loose skin hung around her jowls, and wrinkles adorned her mouth. Even in old age, Rachel Faucett was still a beauty to behold, and Alex didn’t know how a God could kill her at thirty-two. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I know,” She whispered, and pulled back.

Alexander Hamilton opened his eyes to a dark world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I'm not really sure what this chapter was. It was kind of all over the place to hold my attention so I didn't get bored with it easily, I guess. Sorry if it makes no sense. It doesn't make sense to me either. 
> 
> This'll probably be the last update for a while, because I have to start getting ready for Europe on the 25th, but I'll probably keep writing on my phone when I'm over there. Anyways, have a nice life. Comments and kudos make me super super happy!

**Author's Note:**

> like cockroach, i'm not promising regular updates, but i've got some of the second chapter written, so it shouldn't be too long. comments and kudos help me to update because i know people actually take time to read this crap.


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